Arcadia
by Miss Starfire
Summary: Stuff was settled. It truly was. But with a loud bang, a thick cloud of choking gas, the sudden screams of Alexandrians claiming they were being attacked, and the fear-gripped sound of his name coming from her lips as they were separated and pushed onto the ground, Daryl Dixon realized that being settled was not necessarily going to be what he had thought it was. SPOILERS FOR S7.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** Stuff was settled. It truly was. But with a loud bang, a thick cloud of choking gas, the sudden screams of Alexandrians claiming they were being attacked, and the fear-gripped sound of his name coming from her lips as they were separated and pushed onto the ground, Daryl Dixon realized that being settled was not necessarily going to be what he had thought it was.

 **Standard disclaimer for all my stories:** My stories are graphic, angsty, frustrating, filled with cliffhangers, drama and foul language. Read at your own risk – medical issues and subsequent bills are not covered by yours truly ;) If you don't like, please don't read. I appreciate reviews and constructive feedback but if you cannot stand the plot, save yourself and me some time and walk away. I don't own The Walking Dead. My stories are better viewed by using the "half screen" option of FFNET.

* * *

 **Arcadia**

 **Prologue**

It took three months after the war with the Saviors for shit to get settled.

Yet, it took three more months after that for _him_ to feel like shit was _actually_ settled.

Or as settled as it was ever going to be.

Reconstruction efforts at each of the communities had finally ended. A crucial trade and protection treaty had been established between Hilltop, The Kingdom, Oceanside, and Alexandria, augmented by the division and exchange of the goods recovered from The Sanctuary. The surviving innocent people that had been living at the enemy compound had been re-homed; most of which had joined Alexandria – the community that had been left with the most available space once the war had ended. Sadly, and regrettably so, for many of the folks who had lived there before the war.

Rosita, Sasha, Father Gabriel, Eric, and Tobin had all died. Maggie and Enid had returned to the Hilltop, with Maggie becoming its new leader after Gregory had been killed by the Saviors. Shortly afterwards, Carl had made the Hilltop his new permanent home, no doubt following the other teenager he hung around with. The rest of the Alexandrians had reshuffled the home arrangements; some moving out of their homes to move into new ones, some taking in new members of the community, and some… one person in particular, had simply come _back_ home.

 _Carol._

She had been in his mind non-stop, more than what he knew it to be typical for him, and more than a sane person would consider it to be appropriate given the great physical and mental costs of their long-lasting fight for freedom. The struggle _was_ real, and it had been escalating exponentially since the loss of the prison, hitting them with one obstacle after another, until it had all collapsed onto itself with the fall of The Sanctuary. There had not been a moment of true peace – an undeniable instant of respite that felt within their grasp. It had been fight after fight after fight, deception after deception, complication after complication, near-death experience after near-death experience, low after low… until now.

 _Carol._

His eyes had been on her form the entire time the Town Hall meeting had been in session; his mouth shut save for the occasional grunt and the one time he had opened it to ask for something no one had ever imagined the loner archer would want or would dare to request at all. He had asked for a home, all for himself, at the far end of the community, where anyone hardly ever bothered to roam.

As soon as his request had been granted, on the spot and without any opposition, he had nodded his thanks and had headed towards the main exit door of the church. Her slender upper arm had fit perfectly in his large, rugged hand when he had held it on the way out, whispering three words to her that left her shaking with anticipation inside. He was long gone before she had found her voice, her ears tuning out the rest of the Town Hall meeting in favor of his invitation echoing loudly in her mind.

 _"Meet me there."_

This was what he had asked of her – _hoped_ she would agree to do. Hoped, because he would never expect her to do anything just because he asked it. He would never demand it, either. In fact, he would never dream or wish he could force anything out of her.

His heart was practically beating out of him as he slowly approached his brand-new home, following a long day out on a hunt after he had left the Town Hall meeting, and his heart rate only increased when he took note of her. She was there, not opposed to fulfilling his earlier request, patiently sitting on the steps of his porch for who-knew-how-long.

 _Carol._

They had shared comfortably quiet times before, just the two of them, saying with their silence more than they could put in words. It was not odd to see them hanging out together, even at night; everyone knew the twosome was close. This time it was different; however, for the two of them. They were both very aware of that fact.

He quickened his pace and she shot up onto her feet, their eyes locking onto each other; their chests rising and falling as if they had just finished a marathon. She took the one step back needed to stand on his porch. His fast-walk turned into a sprint. Had they been able to read each other's minds, they would have seen that their thoughts were both in synch. Their last serious talk, with just the two of them, had taken place in what she had called home for a while, on the outskirts of The Kingdom. This time, now that everything had been said and done regarding the Saviors, their next heart-to-heart was to take place in _his_ new home.

He nervously re-adjusted the strap of his crossbow across his chest and took the steps two-at-a-time. He stood before her with a look of purpose on his face, and it was not until then that he realized that she had not come to see him alone.

There was a travel bag lying by the front door.

 _Her_ bag.

With _her_ stuff.

She noticed the panicky widening of his eyes when he identified the belongings, his gaze then quickly shifting back to her face with a questioning look. For a second, he feared that she was also feeling the air of settlement, but in a different way than he did, and that she was here to bid him goodbye – that she would leave once more. Thankfully, she saw right through that quick spark of doubt that ignited in his blue orbs, and she was quick to shut it down; nearly stumbling over her rushed words.

"I want to. Here. With you. Do you want to?"

His single response, after processing the true intent behind her words, was to smile.

Yet again, she had read his mind. Yet again, she had known what he had intended to ask her when he had invited her over, without having to say it aloud. For the millionth time, this amazing woman before him had met him in the middle of something he prayed they could both possibly want.

She wanted it. She so wanted it – and she was making sure he knew that only he could fulfill that want.

He slung his crossbow over his head and let it fall to the floor, only to then hold her petite waist in his hands to pull her closer to him; a gesture he had been brave enough to, many times before, only fantasize about until now. His thumbs slowly caressed her stomach over her blouse. She slowly slid her hands up his sleeveless arms, then down his shoulders, until her palms rested firmly against his chest. He was breathing hard, harder than she was, and the tempo increased for both when the shock of his next lovingly-spoken word left her looking like she might pass out in welcomed surprise.

"Carol."

Her name. It was _her_ name – hearing it being uttered by him, for the first time to her face. Coming from his deliciously inviting lips; whispered with such intensity that she felt weak in the knees.

He swallowed hard. His eyes lowered to stare at her lips while his tongue licked his own.

This was it. For him. For her. For them. All it would take now to seal the deal was one kiss. One three-word phrase that he knew would never truly encompass the magnitude of his feelings for her. One honest-to-God confession in the dead of the night. This was it. He could feel it. This was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Shit was settled. It truly was. But with a loud bang, a thick cloud of choking gas, the sudden screams of Alexandrians claiming they were being attacked, and the fear-gripped sound of his name coming from her lips as they were separated and pushed onto the ground, Daryl Dixon realized that being _settled_ was not necessarily going to be what he had thought it was.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, all! New writer to this fandom (and recent fan to the show, too). Still learning the characters. Bear with me on that. I'm a Caryl shipper, and this will be a Caryl-centric fic. Please keep that in mind when reading this story. I have only the first chapter ready. It will be posted later, if there's at least one person interest in reading what I've got here.

Fun tidbit: that line, "This was the beginning of the rest of their lives," was written before the title of the season finale was revealed. Coincidence? :P

Thanks for R&R! ^_^


	2. Chapter 1

**Guest Review Responses**

 **Thanks for the favorites/follows:** shanik, VegetarianaPeletierDixon, ajbbeaudoin, and cosmic[period]lcm.

 **Miss Dawn 94: Welcome to the fanfic fandom! I'm digging this so far and I can't wait to read more. –** Thank you very much! I'm glad you're liking it, and I hope the revelation of what is happening is appealing to you. I have a second, alternate version of this story on the backburner. If this does well, I'll write the second one too :) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

 **A/N:** Fair warning – there was a time, when I was young and carefree and healthy, when I updated all of my stories like crazy. Unfortunately, that is no longer the case. Updates might be slow, but I do finish all of my stories. Oh, and I love angst. Love, love, love angst.

 **Update:** I've decided to make the chapters longer to give the story the time it deserves. I suck at NOT describing things as detailed as I can, and I hate rushing situations. Sorry about that, if reading long chappies is not your cup of tea :( To start off, I've combined the chapters I already had into two long ones. From now on, all chapters will be as long.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

He blinked once. Twice. A third damn time. But it still took his eyes a little bit more effort to focus on anything at all. He felt parched, disoriented, and his brain trapped in a fog. He tried to clear his throat a couple of times, but all he earned for his troubles was a coughing fit.

"Mr. Dixon, please, drink up."

He did not process the words so much as it was his self-preservation instinct that kicked in to guide his actions. He opened his mouth the moment he felt the cold rim of a glass being pressed against his bottom lip. He tilted his head back to welcome the refreshing sensation of moisture returning to his tongue and throat, not stopping to reason that he could be drinking poison until he had swallowed the last drop.

"That's good, Mr. Dixon. Would you like more?"

 _Yes_ , he wanted to scream. It still felt as if he had sand trailing down his throat; but reason suddenly hit him in the face with an invisible slap.

He had no idea where he was. Or who he was talking with. Or what had been the last thing that had happened.

His field of vision broadened, his eyes immediately directed to the smiling, green-eyed brunette standing in front of him. She still held the empty glass in one hand and, in the other, she held what appeared to be a black, flat item of some kind.

"No more?" she asked as she wiggled the glass, and he had enough sense and energy to shake his head from side to side.

"All right," she placed the glass on a table he only now saw behind her as she half-turned, and she then placed the flat item on her left forearm to swipe on it with her other hand. "We were worried you weren't going to make it, Mr. Dixon. You're the last one left."

 _The last one left._

Daryl did not like the sound of that.

 _The last one. The **last** one **left**. _

Carol.

 _No!_

As the woman continued listing medical gibberish he did not care to understand, his hunter eyes began assessing his surroundings, his nostrils flaring with every deep breath he took. He was in what appeared to be a hospital room, connected to machines rhythmically beeping around him. There were no windows anywhere, only a single door that he assumed was the only way out. Everything smelled clean and sterile and, if his skin and ears were not deceiving him, there appeared to be air conditioning as well.

 _The fuck's this place? Where's Carol? Where's everyone else?_

"My name is Annette," Daryl's eyes returned to the smiling woman, "The doctor will be here any time now."

Annette placed a hand on his, which he tried jerking away, but the straps around his wrists had other plans.

"It's for your own safety," the nurse said to try to placate him, as if reading the rage in his eyes that followed the realization that he was bound to the bed. "I promise they won't be there for long. Every new person we bring in here must go through the same thing. It's… well, what you're about to learn… it's just too much for some people."

"Where," he cleared his throat when his voice came out wrong, "Where am I?"

"I'm not authorized to release that information."

"Why'd ya take me?"

"I can't answer that either," Annette replied.

"What ya do to ever'one else? _Where_ are they?"

"Good questions, Mr. Dixon," a male voice suddenly said from the now opened door. "Welcome back to the land of the living. It would've been a crying shame to lose you."

"Who–"

"My name is Dr. Elias June. I'm in charge of the medical facilities here. I'm glad you made it after all."

"What the hell's goin' on here? Answer me!"

Dr. June's bright smile never faltered despite Daryl's murderous look and his tugging at the ankle, wrist, and across-the-chest straps. The grey-haired man slowly walked towards Daryl's left side, opposite to where Annette still stood, and took out from under his arm what was clearly now identified as an electronic tablet. He then began nodding in approval at what he saw on Daryl's medical chart that the nurse had just updated for him, making the archer feel even more uneasy than before. If these people were really doctors, and if he had been asleep for long, who knew what kind of testing and probing they had done on him. On _her_.

"If you promise to behave, Mr. Dixon, we will show you what's going on. Can we do that? Can you keep your hands to yourself?"

Daryl did not appreciate one bit the tone of condescension the hazel-eyed man in the white robe was using with him, but if he wanted to find out where he was and how he could escape, he had to play along for now. At least, this one man holding him against his will, was not walking around with a bat wrapped in barbed wire. That had to be a plus. It had better fucking be.

"Yeah," Daryl gulped. "I can."

"Excellent," Dr. June's smile widened. "Annette, please help me remove these straps."

"Yes, doctor."

It only took a minute or so and, after getting dressed and before he knew it, he was being wheelchaired down a long, empty, and rather bright hall.

xxxXXXxxx

He had expected to be taken to some sort of waiting room or meeting room. Instead, he was wheeled inside what appeared to be an empty utility closet. He was hardly given any time to protest the move before the door was closed and locked behind him, and even less of a chance to get acquainted with his surroundings before the front wall of the small room was uncovered from the outside.

Turned out, the front wall was not really a wall but a window. And, it also turned out, that he was not the only one trapped inside a makeshift 3-by-5 prison.

He did not have much of a vantage point, but he could see a few more similarly small rooms in front of him. He could not tell, though, if they could see him, or if there was anyone inside, leaving him to wonder if the windows were covered with some sort of one-sided privacy film. He figured there were also rooms to his left and right, and perhaps more, all possibly surrounding the center stage that Dr. June was now taking, but that was pure speculation on his part right now.

The doctor slowly spun around in place, smiling at everyone present, his arms slight bent at the elbows and sticking out to the sides, as if welcoming someone to paradise.

"Alexandrians… that's what you call yourselves, right? Even if some of you were at the Hilltop?" Dr. June began. "Welcome! I welcome all of you to the new world."

Daryl wanted to scream at the man to get on with it, but he doubted these rooms were made to provide a means to communicate with the outside.

"I apologize for the way things have to be for this. We've learned, the hard way, I must admit, that news such as what I'm about to deliver can be hard for some people. But you will see, in time, that this is the best thing that could've ever happened to you. The best way to tell you the news. To tell you that you… you've _made_ it. You're true survivors. But you don't have to be survivors anymore."

The doctor snapped his fingers and the walls to Daryl's left and right suddenly turned as see-through as the one in the front of him was. Only that, this time, he could see everyone else in the rooms that were in his field of view; all of them faces he recognized – all in the same wheelchair situation he was, including one Carol Peletier.

Their eyes found each other almost instantly, both speaking so loudly with their gazes on one another that he felt his heart stop until the doctor continued his speech.

"As you can see, we have not harmed you or yours. Quite the opposite, in fact. We've brought you here, to safety. We've taken great care of you. We've _cured_ you."

There was a planned pause that Dr. June made, knowing his next words would be difficult to believe.

"The world belongs to the living again. We've found the cure. We've neutralized the threat. You were the last community we needed to bring in. The Turn has ended. There will be no more walking dead."

The man yet again turned around in place, briefly locking eyes with everyone in the room before speaking one last time.

"Welcome to the re-start of civilization. Welcome to Arcadia."

xxxXXXxxx

Scrubs had never been her type, but she would have taken a sack of potatoes right now as a sensible clothing item if that had guaranteed she would be allowed to be in the same room as her family. She had woken up tied to a bed, a nurse telling her that she had a minor concussion but that she would be all right in a few days, and she had then been held there for an eternity until she had been wheeled to the hive-looking room.

Her heart had jumped to her throat when she had seen Daryl staring back at her with the same look of confusion, relief, and fear she knew she had on her face; Dr. June's words sounding almost too distant to decipher until he had mentioned the bit about the cure.

Was this real? Was she dreaming? Were they all dreaming? Were the walkers really gone?

She had pinched herself several times since waking up. She had threatened the staff with anything she had thought would sound dangerous and plausible enough, given her state, but it had been the mention of his name that had left Carol with no option but to continue waiting for the right time.

 _"We're waiting on Mr. Dixon. He is yet to wake up."_

What had they done to him, she had wondered. Why had he not woken up yet? She had feared the worst. Why was he not with her? Was he _gone_?

The last three days had been the worst for Carol since before the end of the war. She could only hope that this was not the start of something worse than Negan and his group of Saviors. She was not sure if she would be able to live through something worse than that; losing more of her family, having to kill to survive yet again – so shortly after they had thought they could be free at last. Safe, at last. She did not think any of them would have the will or the energy for another all-out war.

The nurse that had escorted her here opened the door after sliding a keycard through a reader on the wall. Carol hesitated for an instant, inconspicuously making a note of the location where the nurse stuck the card on her person, before she meekly nodded her thanks and went through the door. In an instant, everyone's eyes were on her and, a nanosecond later, Daryl's body was pressed against hers.

"Daryl," she shut her eyes tightly and returned the trembling embrace, digging her face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, her arms going under his and clawing at the back of his shirt.

"Oh, God, Daryl! I didn't know where you were. I was so… I thought that you… Are you OK? Are you OK?!"

He pulled away from her but only slightly, his hands cradling her face and neck; not caring who was watching them, his eyes taking in every pore on her.

"M'fine. You OK? What they do to you? I swear if they–"

"I'm OK," she nodded and gave him a brief smile to prove it, her palms now tenderly cupping his face. "I'm alright."

He exhaled sharply and gave her a curt nod to show that he believed her before hugging her tightly yet again.

"Thought you were gone."

"I'm here," she whispered to him, her eyes now taking in the seemingly healthy form of the rest of her loved ones over Daryl's shoulder; all of them stealing similar glances at everyone else for a second time to ensure they were all unharmed. "I'm here. We're here. We're fine."

They remained in each other's arms for nearly a minute before he unwillingly broke the hug. Rick was calling on everyone to join a tight circle in the middle of the room, since it appeared that the medical staff had left them alone for now.

"Is everyone OK?" Rick addressed everyone at once, Judith asleep in his arms. "Was anyone hurt?"

A collective shake of heads was the group's unison response.

"Good. That's good. I'm glad. Now listen. It goes without saying that we can't trust these people. But we aren't in a position to fight back. Not yet. We need to keep our eyes and ears open. We need to find out what's really going on 'round here. If this cure deal is true."

"There're no windows in my room," Tara was quick to say, feeling that time was of the essence at the moment. "I haven't seen one window at all."

"Same here," Daryl began, "Nurse said she wasn't authorized to tell me nothin'."

"And they have Internet," Carl said. "The tablets, they have wireless internet."

"Maybe it's a government facility?" Michonne pitched in. "I haven't seen any weapons of any kind, though. Just doctors and nurses and a cleaning crew."

"Underground," Carol suggested. "No windows. Quiet. They claim we're safe. The CDC was pretty locked up, and it was mostly underground."

"OK. This is good. What else?" Rick encouraged.

"They know who we are," Maggie shifted her son from one hip to the other. "Even when they came to the Hilltop… they knew Enid, Carl and I weren't from there. They didn't group us with the Hilltop, no matter how much Jesus insisted that they did."

"Jesus is here?" Aaron asked. "How did they get to you?"

"He is. And it was quick," Carl shook his head as the incident played out in his mind. "There was a loud sound. Then smoke…"

"And then you got pinned to the ground. Passed out," Morgan said, recalling his own experience, knowing everyone else's was probably same as his.

"Yeah," Enid said. "That's exactly how it went down."

"So?" Daryl shrugged. "What are we gonna do 'bout it? Talkin' ain't doing shit. We gotta get outta here. I don't like the feel of this place."

"We don't even know where we are, Daryl. We can't escape a place we can't name," Rick argued.

"Arcadia," Maggie began. "That's what that doctor called it. What does that even mean? Is that still in Virginia?"

"Not at all. Arcadia is one of the regional units in Greece," Eugene said. "Although, I don't believe we are anywhere upon or within the European continent. I think that, in this instance, the name was chosen for its mythos definition."

"What?" Daryl scrunched up his face in confusion.

"A place with idyllic traits, hosting an Edenic method of life."

"The fuck?"

"You mean: utopian," Carol asked, her hand on Daryl's arm to keep him from shaking regular words out of Eugene.

"That is a common misconception. Arcadia is not considered utopian. There are typically no progressive trends in Edenic types of civilizations."

"Can someone translate this shit?" Daryl was ready to place his hands around Eugene's neck.

"He means Arcadia is not a real city, in the States, at least," Michonne said, "It's made up. Given a name that means _pure_ or _free_ _of bad things_. Free of walkers, I guess."

"Why didn't ya just say that?" Daryl growled at Eugene.

"I believe my contributions were clear as day."

Daryl grunted and rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Rick interjected. "We don't know enough to know how to proceed. Let's play along for now. See what we can see. Wait for them to drop the ball."

"And if they don't?" Daryl asked, none of Rick's hopefulness sticking to him. "What if they split us up again?"

"I don't know," Rick admitted. "All I know is that, for now, we gotta play nice. Please, Daryl. We have no other choice."

This was not the answer Daryl had wanted to hear, but he had to accept that their leader was right. He was not about to do something stupid that could be used against them – not again. He was not about to do something that could put them all in danger. He had acted without thinking before, and it had cost the lives of people he loved. He could not let it transpire for a second time.

"We'll figure it out," Carol whispered to him as she pressed her lips against his left shoulder and tugged at his hand. "We will."

He laced his fingers with hers in response.

xxxXXXxxx

Daryl was unsure as to how much of this circus he was going to take. Rick had begged he remained cooperative, even after they had all been informed they would be split up yet again, if only for a short while. It had taken all of Daryl's willpower to let Carol's hand go; to watch her smile sadly at him as she was taken away once more. They had all been taken back to their rooms for further testing and examination; the doctors claiming they needed to double-check the vaccine was behaving as expected, among other things.

A cure. A cure for the walkers. For the disease. For the world turned to shit. He still could not believe this day had come. He could still not believe the words.

 _Six months after the war_ , he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning in frustration. If only some of his people had been able to make it for just a few more months. If only…

"Now we'll talk about your personal life, Mr. Dixon–"

"Daryl," he grumbled, his fingers impatiently tapping onto the table that lay between him and yet another man in a white coat.

"Daryl," Dr. Robert Gray, a psychiatrist in Arcadia, began, "What was your occupation prior to the incident?"

 _The incident_ , Daryl scoffed.

"None. Did odd jobs here an' there. Handyman shit. Whatever's available."

"Married?"

"Nah."

"Children?"

"No."

"Sexually active?"

Daryl frowned. "That ain't none of your business."

"It's a valid question, Mr. – Daryl. We will be running STD testing on everyone. This is just part of the process. We have to take all precautions."

He still felt uneasy, telling this stranger about his sex life. Or lack thereof. He eyed the corner of the room where a security camera stuck to the ceiling, wishing he could just flip off whoever was bored enough to listen in to a man's life story.

"Not in a while."

"What's a while?"

"'fore The Turn."

The man's eyebrows shot up for an instant, but then his professional demeanor returned.

"Inability to engage in sexual acts?"

"What? No!"

"Sexual orientation?"

"The fuck, man!" Daryl's chair scrapped the floor as he stood up. "Ya interested or what? Cuz I ain't swing that way!"

Dr. Gray did not appear to be intimidated by Daryl's physical response. He simply continued to eye him as if he were a fascinating specimen, his pen tapping his lips before he returned his eyes to his paper.

"Currently involved with someone?" the psychiatrist continued, as if a man twice his size had not just implied his desire to beat him to a pulp.

The word _yes_ was at the tip of his tongue, but he bit it down. He was not sure if putting out there how he felt about Carol, or what he was sure had almost happened between them before these people had barged in and taken them from Alexandria, was a good idea at the time. He was not sure that the intentions of these doctors and nurses were honest. None of them knew if this cure claim was real, or if they were just being told lies for the sake of using them as subjects to find a cure these doctors said they already had. The last time he had been around a handful of doctors and government officials, things had gone south.

No. He could not reveal his feelings for Carol to these strangers, no matter what joyful news they appeared to have for them. Who knew what they would try to do with this information. Who knew if they would try to use it against him – or her.

"No," Daryl finally said as he returned to his chair. "Ain't got the time for that with the way things are."

"Were," the man was quick to interject. " _Were_ , Daryl. The world has been cleansed of the disease. We get to rebuild now."

"Yeah?" Daryl pulled away from the doctor and folded his arms over his chest, physically showing the man how little of the news he was buying. "What took ya so long?"

To Daryl's surprise, the man did not appear to be interested in holding much back.

"The _contaminant_ was complex. France was the closest country to a cure shortly after the outbreak happened. Well, relatively shortly, at any rate. Without instant communication, it was difficult for the information to get to the right people at the right time. There was a lot of back and forth. A lot of delayed data. Had to start over several times."

 _France_ , Daryl's eyes momentarily lost focus, thinking about what Dr. Jenner at the CDC had told them all. How the man had given up hope and had almost blown them up along with him in what the doctor had thought to be his last act of kindness.

Daryl did not have an exact count of how much time had passed since those early days; since the rumors of a horrible, fast-spreading disease resulted in chaos and confusion across the world. Since Merle and he had attempted to make it to Atlanta because of the radio broadcast stating the capital being a safe zone. It could have not been more than two or three years but, for him and for everyone in his family, it felt like a lifetime ago.

"You," Daryl narrowed his eyes at Dr. Gray, an irrational belief that the doctor was at fault for all the calamities of The Turn rising within him, "Your doctor friend, he said that we're the last group to come here. Why? _Why_ were we last?"

For the second time in less than a minute, the psychiatrist shocked Daryl with a no-hesitation response.

"Our efforts to bring survivors into Arcadia had to evolve once we saw our typical methods weren't working. We didn't think societal standards had dropped so sharply, so quickly. But they had. They did. Normal, civilized means were worthless. So, we started better profiling our target demographic. And that took time. At first, we tried to walk up to people's front door and talk to them. Nobody believed us. Some shot at us without asking questions. And some just plain lost it when we proved it to them that it was all gone. They couldn't handle it. Not after everything they went through. They blamed us for being too late. For coming for them after their loved ones were long gone. So, we started recruiting communities in a different way. The way we recruited yours. We moved from West-to-East across the continent, then up and down the entire coast once we arrived here, bringing in each group we found. But not without first asking those who we already had here what they knew about nearby communities. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius from Alexandria knew who you were. You were the group that took lead in the fight against the Saviors. Everyone we spoke with about you said you were not to be trifled with."

"You ain't seem to've followed the advice."

Dr. Gray smiled. "Well, seeing as we're both still here, talking as the oldest of friends… I think we did alright."

Daryl hated that he did not know how to refute his reply.

"So, what's next? You gonna ask what mah favorite flower is?"

"No, Daryl. We're gonna ask you to show us what you can do."

xxxXXXxxx

The truth was that, these people, whoever they were, had them by the balls. And the tits. And any other body part that was susceptible to a high amount of ache if not handled just right. As much as they despised playing the part of cooperative _patients_ while they figured out what their options were, the entire family knew that Rick was correct. They had no idea where they were; how much time had passed since they had been essentially kidnapped from Alexandria and, if other communities were here after all, there was no cavalry, as decreed by the treaty, waiting for the correct moment to strike and set them free. As far as they were concerned, they were stuck here, outnumbered, and outwitted. Rick Grimes had learned not to fight back when he had a feeling that he did not know all there was to know about his enemies. Not again. Not anymore. Not after Negan.

They had all thought that the interviews with Deanna Monroe had been ludicrous; downright unnecessary, in fact, but the auditioning process for this new community was much worse than that. Deanna had asked about their past lives, their skills and abilities, and other general questions to help her decide what their new roles would be in Alexandria. These people, however, were short of asking them to take some graduate studies standardized test while fighting a mob of walkers… one-handed and with their eyes closed.

When Dr. Gray had informed them that they were going to be given an opportunity to highlight their skills, no one had imagined the rigor the tasks would entail. They had been tested in reading, writing, basic math, problem-solving, logic, weapons knowledge, survival skills, general medical and wound treatment, walker management (because, apparently, that was a _thing_ ), psychological soundness, and endurance and stamina. They had been at it all day; stopping only to eat, to wait for the next task to be set up, or to have quick bathroom breaks – just as the one they were having right now.

The first few breaks had been vastly monitored; allowing only two or three people to leave the room at a time. As the day had progressed without any difficulties or defiance on the part of the Alexandrians, the proctors had relaxed their stance on almost standing next to them while they used the facilities. It was nearly the end of the day; they only had about two more tasks to complete, but Carol felt she could pass out on the restroom floor right now.

It was difficult to be herself around Johnny-come-latelies after being used to pretending to be someone she was not when new people appeared in their lives. The helpless housewife act had served her purposes many times, but she had quickly gotten the feeling that keeping to herself what her abilities were was not a safe plan of action with these people. She was not stupid, and neither was anyone else in her family: these tasks were not just testing how much of a survivor each of them were. They had been carefully planned to help figure out which of the family members were good enough to keep in Arcadia. These people had, inadvertently, taken a page out of King Ezekiel's book: take from the well, replenish the well. Or else.

Carol could not afford to act lost and confused right now.

But, dammit it all. She was tired as fuck.

She opened the door and returned to the corridor, with every intention of rejoining the testing area. Nevertheless, a hand on her mouth, an arm around her waist to keep her arms pinned down, and an upward move that lifted her off her feet and then dragged her inside a dark closet made her realize that she was not going back to her tasks as immediately as she had thought she was.

"It's me," Daryl's lowered voice said by her left ear before she could kick and scream. He had caught her so completely off-guard, had moved so swiftly and almost soundlessly, that she had barely had any time to register that she was practically being kidnapped.

"Daryl," she turned in place when he let go of her and faced him, her eyes taking their sweet time adjusting to the dim surroundings. "You scared the shit out of me! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Talkin' to ya," he said as his hands tried to determine how far she was from him.

"Couldn't we talk in the testing room? They're gonna come looking for us. We're gonna get in trouble with these people."

"Just a minute," he insisted, his hands finally finding her arms. "Just… needed to see ya. Talk to ya. Alone."

"I…" she sighed, whatever retort she had been forming in her mind suddenly turning pointless. "Me too. We… I… what did you tell–"

"N'thing," he absentmindedly ran his hands up and down her upper arms. "You?"

"The usual. About Ed. About Sophia. About my sad and pathetic life before The Turn."

"And… us? Did you tell'em 'bout us?"

In the darkness of the room, Carol felt daring enough to smirk. "What about us? Is there something _to_ tell?"

She heard him exhale sharply, felt his face shake from side to side, and then instantly missed the contact of his skin against hers when he suddenly dropped his hands from her arms and took a step back.

"You're right. Ain't nothing to tell."

"Daryl," she took a step forward to once again be closer to him, "I'm kidding. I… we… I honestly didn't know if there was anything to tell. I didn't want to just assume that you… that us… Didn't even know if you wanted me to say anything at all."

She could not see it, but his frown slowly melted away.

"They asked if I's seeing someone. Told'em _no_."

"Said the same thing. Don't trust them yet."

"Same here."

"Good. That was smart."

"Yeah."

When Daryl did not say anything else after his last response, Carol realized that her teasing had been executed at the worst of times. This unfinished and unspoken business between them was clearly affecting them severely, much more that whatever crazy tests they had been living with all day. They needed to talk about what had been so rudely broken up while on his porch. About his implicit attempt at asking her to start over, with him. About her willingness to stay in Alexandria, as long as it was with him.

Sadly, her try at humor had backfired, leaving them with a sense of wasted precious time they did not have.

 _Then **why** are we throwing it away?_

Following her thought, Carol stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips up his face, rising until she was high enough to press their foreheads together. Sensing what she was trying to do, he lowered his body a little so that she did not have to stretch herself so much to reach him. She felt him shudder and exhale in short breaths, as if he was readying himself for a universe-sized cataclysm.

"Hey," her breath tickled his goatee.

"Mmhh."

"Do me a favor?"

"Uh."

"Don't pull back."

Before he started forming a reply, her lips landed on his; softly at first, but then a tad harder when he did not pull away. The kiss was short, one-sided, probably not as romantic as she had pictured it in her mind, and it left her feeling cold to the bone when she realized he had not kissed back.

Even if they could not really see each other due to the lack of light, she hung her head to avoid his gaze, beating herself up by what she had done. She suddenly felt stupid, thinking for a second that this was the right place and the right time to do this – to think that this was OK to do at all. If standing alone on his porch at night had ended up not being the ideal moment to act on her feelings, why did she even consider that right now was any better than that?

"I'm sorry," she gulped. "I better… get back."

She furrowed her brow when she heard a click near her ear. Her eyes then went wide when she realized that there was now a small light partly illuminating the cramped space. It took her a second to comprehend that she was looking at a cigarette lighter, firmly held in Daryl's left hand near their heads, before she aimed her eyes towards Daryl's unreadable face.

"Snatched it up from one of them tables when we was doin' the outdoor survival tests."

"Oh," she smirked, shaking her head at him in feigned disapproval before she slid her hand inside her top and then took out a keycard from her bra. "Took it from one of the nurses when she was too busy flirting with you."

He chuckled at her admission of wrongdoing before the processing of the second half of her sentence made him scoff.

"Flirting? Ain't flirting with nobody."

"Maybe you weren't. But _she_ was."

"Nah," he shook his head.

"What? Don't think the ladies look at ya?"

"Stop."

"I'm serious," she put the card back inside her left bra cup and then playfully smacked his biceps as she spoke, "Keep it up. We might need you to distract them with your flexed muscles while we find a way out."

"Pfft," he rolled his eyes. "Ya also want me ta pretend I lift weights with my _heavy_ arrows while I'm at it?"

She giggled, "Being shirtless would help."

"Yeah, sure," he scoffed and looked away from her. "'til they saw my fucked up back."

And just like that, their easy banter had turned uncomfortable again.

"I'm sorry," she rubbed her temples with both hands. "I don't know why I keep saying these things to you. I… I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"S'alright," he shrugged. "Ain't nothing but the truth."

"I guess," she hugged herself.

"So," he began after a short pause, "Is that… is that why you kissed me? Cuz you're tired?"

"No," she swallowed hard, her eyes staring at his chest. "That was… wishful thinking. Seeing things that aren't there. That's all."

"Hey," he tilted and lowered his head, waiting like that for the five seconds it took Carol to look up at him. "Not flirting with no one. Not pretending shit. And… not seeing things that ain't there, either."

"Daryl."

He licked his lips once, bent his head at a shaper angle while alternating looks at her eyes and mouth, hesitated for a moment or two, but then closed the space between them.

This time, the kiss was not one-sided or short; it was tender and sweet, promising and hopeful, heart-stopping, and it ended only when the archer pulled away with a curse.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked between breaths, noticing that the source of light was gone.

"Burned my fucking hand," Daryl said as he shook his limb a few times and then sucked on his index finger and thumb. He had been so distracted by their kiss that he had forgotten he had been holding fire in his grip.

"Let me see," Carol grabbed the lighter from his hand and turn it on to examine his hand.

"Don't burn the other one. Not tryin' to even that out," he joked and she gave him mocking angry side glance while she continued her careful inspection.

"You'll survive," she finally said and rubbed his hand lightly before letting it go.

"Ya think?" one side of his mouth quirked up.

"I'm sure of it," she offered him the lighter.

"A'right," he nodded and accepted the lighter from her, clipping it shut before returning it to his pants pocket. "Gotta get back. Wanna go out first?"

"Yeah. I should. I did leave first, so…"

"OK."

Carol hesitated to take the two steps that would take her to the door. She knew that as soon as they both left the privacy of this space, they would have to go back to pretending there was nothing between them – that they were simply good friends; just two members of the Alexandria community.

"Carol?" his voice made her stop in her tracks once she had taken the first step towards the door.

"Mmhh?"

"I…"

He bit his bottom lip and danced on the balls of his feet, willing the words to come out. Nevertheless, when it dawned on him that this was not the appropriate time to confess to her how he felt, and that he wanted to make the revelation memorable, he sighed in defeat and altered his reply.

"I… I can't lose you, either. Ya know that, right?"

"I do," she smiled as she opened door.

"K. Stay safe. See you at dinner."

She held up nine fingers and smiled. "See you tonight."

xxxXXXxxx

He had expected the so-called _welcome dinner_ to be a small affair; his family and some of the hosts being the only partakers. However, as he had followed Nurse Annette to what she had called the _Mess Hall_ , he had swiftly come to the realization that this was a bigger deal than any of them had originally thought it to be. The Mess Hall was not just a large-enough room with a few tables. It was a space the size of an event center, and it could barely contain the crowd it held.

 _What in the…_

His train of thought interrupted, Daryl flinched and pulled his arm away when he felt Annette tug at his hand. She had tried to hold it to catch his attention, perhaps even use it to guide him towards the mob that was clearly already making him uncomfortable, but he would rather suffocate in a sea of strangers than allow this woman to think that she had any right to lay a hand on him, for whatever reason she deemed it necessary.

"They are the other survivors," Annette explained as she walked slightly ahead of the archer and towards the center of the crowd. "You may see familiar faces. Anyone who made it through the outbreak on the East Coast is here."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone," the nurse said resolutely. "I know that, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't look like it. These numbers are nothing compared to how many people used to live on the East Coast. But a lot of people didn't make it. A lot."

"So, you sayin' this all that's left of the States?"

"Of the East Coast, yes. There are other communities like this one throughout the country. West Coast, Gulf Coast, and Midwest."

Daryl briefly recalled having a similar conversation with Dr. Gray, but he was yet to believe a word of it.

"How do ya know that? That there's other places like this one?"

"Because I've worked at all of them. Helped establish them. Been swamped doing that."

Daryl's only responses were the narrowing of his eyes and a noncommittal grunt.

"Anyway," the woman shrugged as she began walking away from him, "I'll see you around, Daryl."

No sooner than Annette was out of sight, lost in the herd, Daryl began scanning the faces of those around him, searching for his family. Just as he, there were other individuals who appeared to be looking for familiar faces, but he did not recognize any of them. There were men, women, and children. There were even babies and some elderly – not as many as there were of the other age ranges, but the sight of the two opposite stages of life made him feel a tad less apprehensive about this place. Some of the babies looked to be only a few weeks old, making it obvious that they had probably been born inside wherever they were.

 _East Coast_ , Daryl remembered, his steps turning slow and deliberate as he began taking a more organized approach to his hunt _. We're on the East Coast. Maybe still in Virginia._

"Daryl!"

Not a second after hearing his name being called, Rick was in front of him, his hands landing on the brooding-looking man's shoulders.

"You OK?" Rick asked his brother, earning a curt nod from the archer, before the former Sheriff's Deputy lowered his arms.

"Just got here," Daryl mumbled. "Seen anyone else?"

Rick shook his head. "Been pacing around for almost twenty minutes. You're the first one I see."

"Place's huge," Daryl briefly scrunched his nose in distaste. "Feels like a fucking party."

"It might be," Rick looked over his shoulder to locate their hosts standing all in a cluster, casually throwing glances at the mob. "Reminds me a bit of when we first arrived at Alexandria. Remember the party Deanna threw for us? I've got a feeling this is the same thing. They just haven't told us yet."

"Think they got jobs for us, too?" Daryl crossed his arms over his chest.

"Maybe," Rick replied, his hand rubbing his chin in contemplation. "And I don't think they involve us seeing the sun again for a long time."

Daryl frowned at that, not wanting to imagine what would happen to him if Rick was correct. Alexandria had felt suffocating enough even though it had been out in the open. Daryl could not see himself remaining sane if he were to be kept from being out in the world, regardless of how dangerous it might be.

"Where's Lil' Asskicker?"

"With Michonne."

"And Michonne?"

Rick shrugged. "We got separate rooms."

The hunter arched a single brow. "Ya didn't tell'em you's together?"

"We did."

"And?"

"They didn't seem to care."

Daryl pursed his lips in disapproval, his eyes still looking around the room for the rest of them, before Rick continued his line of inquiry.

"How about you and Carol?"

"Huh?"

"You told them you're together?"

Instead of instantly replying, Daryl narrowed his eyes and swallowed hard, thinking thoroughly about his response. He knew that he had nothing to fear or hide with Rick; that the man – along with anyone else that knew him – was probably already aware of how he felt about Carol, for a very long time. It was unlikely that Carol had said anything to anyone, so he did not think that Rick was asking the question because of her. It was more likely that Rick's ever observing policeman side had put two and two together in the brief time that they had been in the same room. It was not as if Daryl had any intention of hiding it from his family, if asked; but he was not one to broadcast things like these either.

Carl had once told him that anyone who met them believed that he and Carol were an item, and that it was about time to make the suspicion a reality, _for God's sake_. If a child had brought up the serious topic so nonchalantly, then there was no doubt that the adults had the same thoughts.

"Nah," Daryl finally said, acknowledging his new relationship with Carol to his brother in his own way. "Don't know what they might do with that. We didn't wanna chance it."

"That's smart," Rick gave him a small smile out of happiness for what he knew was a very important step for the hunter. "Would've done it too, with Michonne, if we didn't have Judith."

"It was the right call for you," Daryl assured him before he lazily pointed to something behind Rick. "Saw them babies? Might've been best you told them about ya'll. Keep the family together."

"Hasn't worked so far."

"Might after this," the archer said, hoping their hosts were done using them as lab rats.

"Rick! Daryl!"

Both men turned in place to see a handful of the people they were looking for practically run towards them. In no time, Maggie and her baby, Aaron, Carl, Jesus, King Ezekiel and Jerry joined them.

"Friends," King Ezekiel addressed the two men, "I am relieved to see you well."

"Got you too, huh?" Daryl scoffed. "Thought maybe with that big, scary tiger of yours, you'd get away."

"Shiva is still alive," the King's face fell. "But she is beyond my reach, for the time being."

"They gonna give her back?" Daryl asked, shock evident in his tone of voice.

"They have not said they won't," Ezekiel replied with hope.

"Who else is here?" Rick asked.

"I saw Natania," Maggie responded. "Cyndie, too. Tara's catching up with them. Asking them what they know."

"Good," Rick nodded. "Anyone else?"

"Lady Carol is that way," Jerry pointed behind him. "She was having a lively conversation with a gentleman."

"Who?" Daryl asked, his legs already taking him in the general direction Jerry had aimed his finger towards.

"Don't know," Jerry admitted. "Never seen him around before."

"Daryl, wait, we shouldn't–" Aaron tried to stop the hunter, but Jesus placed a hand on the former recruiter's arm and shook his head.

"He won't listen. Let him find her. She'll bring him back."

xxxXXXxxx

It did not take Daryl long to find her and her current companion. And it took even less time to figure out, even from a distance, that she had her game face on; she was already playing pretend. He had seen her act like this more times than he cared to remember, especially when they had first settled in Alexandria. The sweet and polite smile, the meek looks; she was playing the man like a fiddle – touching him at the right times and on the appropriate places, quickly earning his trust.

He knew that this was just how she gathered intel for them. How she kept her family safe. But this had also been how Tobin had fallen for her. And even though it had deeply hurt him seeing Carol with Tobin, Daryl could not blame him for falling for it. To Daryl, Carol was the whole package – even more so because she did not think of herself as being just that. Tobin had never stood a chance of not falling in love with her.

And neither had the archer.

Daryl swallowed hard at the memory of those dark times without her and then suddenly stopped in his tracks; doing so more due to realizing that perhaps approaching her right now was not beneficial to her case and her plans, than due to him wanting to avoid the pain yet again. If she was wasting time talking to this prick instead of searching for the rest of their family, then there was a good reason for her to do so. Interrupting them was probably not the best course of action right now.

Not a moment after the thought crossed his mind and he had lifted his foot to walk away, their eyes locked for half a second; her quick glance gluing him in place. When she returned her eyes to the man before her, she placed her left hand on his shoulder in a way that showed she was bidding him goodbye. She then gave him a large smile and, without hesitation, reciprocated the hug the man initiated. As they were pulling apart, the stranger left a quick kiss on Carol's right cheek before turning around in place and leaving her be.

Even above the noise of the crowd, Daryl could hear his tightening knuckles crack.

Carol kept her pleasant smile in place as she reached him, stopping a foot away from his form, acting as if she was thrilled to be here. She kept the smile on her face as she spoke to him between barely parted lips, her head moving from side to side, taking in everything around her.

"The others?"

"Some are back there," Daryl did not bother to point towards the direction he had meant. He did not trust his clenched hands right now.

"We need to regroup," Carol continued, "Talk this out before we get split up again."

"Hoss over there told you stuff?"

"Yup."

"Good stuff?"

"Yeah-hum. We're in D.C. Underground. And they're gonna send us out soon. In groups. To _clean up_."

"Out? Clean up? D.C.? Why'd he tell ya all that?"

"Because I asked him."

"I asked too," Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Nobody told me shit."

"Yeah, well…" Carol gulped and looked towards the floor, avoiding his stare at all costs.

"Carol?" the archer gnawed the inside of his mouth. He just knew that he was not going to like her response.

"He works here, and I…" she sighed. "I know him."

"How?"

"I…" she glanced at Daryl and then held her breath.

"Carol… _How_ do you know him?"

"From before," she cleared her throat. "I know him. He… we…"

"You? You, what?"

"We… used to date," she scratched the top of her head. "In high school. Before Ed."

Just like that, his foreboding feeling was proven correct.

 _Well, shit_ , Daryl held back a groan. She would have to play him like she did Tobin, for sure. In _front_ of _him_. Again.

Once more, another man was going to fall for the woman Daryl Dixon already loved.

xxxXXXxxx

The luxuries of _days gone_ _bye_ were staring her right in the face, almost mocking her unwillingness and inability to take it all in. Her reluctance to believe that this reality was as factual as the one she had experienced daily for who-knew-how-long-now would have amused the leaders of this place; a reality in which the dead walked toward you, hoping to eat your face, and one in which foraging for supplies and fighting the living was the order of the day.

Suddenly, that old reality seemed as easy as pie compared to this.

Much to her and everyone's disappointment, their dinner the night before had been the last time she and her family had been together in the same room. Immediately after the feast held in celebration of bringing into Arcadia the last community on the East Coast, new quarters had been assigned to the newcomers. For the last few days, as long as she had been conscious enough to be aware of her surroundings, they had all been kept in the medical wing, practically held captive and isolated in private rooms, until Daryl had finally woken up. After that, they had spent the following 24 hours being these people's test subjects, hardly seeing her family in between, and now she was even further away from them all.

From him.

 _Daryl_.

She placed her palm against her chest, scrunching up her blouse. Her eyes were staring at the small piece of paper on the kitchen counter that he had inconspicuously given to her the night before as they were escorted to their new living areas. Their hands had barely made contact, but it had been enough for him to slip the paper in her palm and for her to lock eyes with him for half a second to note the look of longing in his eyes and the almost imperceptible and hopefully reassuring nod he had offered her.

The irony of the words scribbled on the paper was ever present. The last time he had given her a message that had been meant only for her had been during the Town Hall meeting back in Alexandria, asking her to meet him at his new place. Last night, he had not been able to utter the words, but his message and its meaning had not been lost to her. It had been the only reason why she had been able to cope with her current situation and surroundings. The only reason she had not already bolted out of here and started trying to find the rest of them all.

 _I'll come find you_ , he had written, and she had been holding her breath for him all night long.

She had not even gone searching for breakfast when she had woken up this morning – not that she needed to; the kitchen was functioning and was well-stocked – but she had been afraid to leave the place to explore the area and meet her neighbors lest he showed up and did not find her waiting on him. If she was not in here, he would not be allowed inside this section of the complex – that was the rule. Only people who lived inside a section were allowed to buzz anyone in who did not already live there, and by doing so they became responsible for the person's actions while visiting. The idea had seemed ridiculous at first, considering the extreme vetting process everyone had undergone to get here, but then it dawned on her that, once the trials and tribulations of trying to survive were erased from society, other less-than-honorable needs and more trivial activities to pass the time had the opportunity to emerge and grow. Restless bodies always looked for a fix, in whatever shape or form that took place. Thinking about it more thoroughly during her nearly sleepless night, she now understood how holding people accountable for who they invited into their homes was a way to keep everyone honest and on their toes.

As of last night, she was now the _proud_ resident of her very own studio apartment; full of amenities that now, in comparison to her old life as a survivor, felt unnecessary, ostentatious, and downright wrong. Despite the diminutive size of the place, she had everything she needed here and more, including a small closet holding a stacked washer and dryer; a microwave and other kitchen appliances she had learned to cook without by this point; a garbage shoot on one of the walls; a full bathroom with a shower/tub combination and hot water, and brand-new clothes and shoes that fit her like a glove. The studio even had a living area with a large, flat-screen television on an entertainment center – an electronic device she had not had the heart or the courage to turn on just yet. If she did, and if there was a broadcasting signal and genuine channels to watch, everything would become too real. Too raw. And the implications of it all would be too much for her to bear alone.

Alone. Because, in this new world, as far as their hosts could tell, she _was_ alone.

How many times had she wished the nightmare would finally end, and not by her death? How many times had she prayed the world returned to what it had once been? Ed was gone. Sophia was gone. Everyone she had ever known from before – sans Thomas Clark, the man she had reconnected with last night – was dead. Or undead, which was worse.

She had thought – and she was willing to bet her life that she was not the only one – that returning to the living commodities of before would have been the best thing to ever happen to her; to everyone, after The Turn. And it being so for her only because she knew that there was no way for her beautiful daughter to come back to her. If there was, then she would want Sophia to return, even at the cost of the amenities that were now at her fingertips, and even if she and Sophia ended up living the shitty survivor life, as she knew now that she would be more than capable of fighting and defending her from anything and anyone, and Ed would be gone. Carl and Judith had made it this far, despite the odds. Had Carol been stronger back then, or if Daryl had been the one following Sophia's trail as soon as she had run for the woods, her baby girl would still be alive today. Of that, she had no doubt.

Yet now, as she continued to stare at the comforts of her apartment and despite the many times she had hoped to be in a place like this once again, she could not help but feeling this was not where she belonged. Not anymore. It was all too perfect. Too clean. Too foreign. Too relatively easy to attain. It was all at her disposal, but she had no one in her family to share it with. That alone diminished its worth tenfold. That alone made her want to go back on her word and yell to the powers that be in Arcadia that Daryl was her world.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the buzzing sound coming from a single speaker embedded into the wall by the front door. She rushed towards it, her index finger at the ready even before she had left the confines of the kitchen to press on the button that would carry on his voice. She was shaking in anticipation and nervousness at seeing him again, away from prying eyes, behind closed doors, and with all but time galore in their hands.

"Yes?" she called into the microphone and waited.

Last night, Daryl had been sitting three chairs too far away from her. It had all been necessary to keep up their charade, but that did not make going along with it any easier for her. Or him. Especially him. Even if she did not know that this was the case. He had been clearly irritated by her initial revelation of her old flame being in the area, but he had kept his other feelings and thoughts in the matter extremely reeled in after that.

 _"Hey,"_ was all Daryl said before she keyed in the number combination on the keypad to unlock the main gate for him; the beeping that followed telling her that he was on his way.

She stood by the door, her hands wringing in front of her, for what felt like an eternity. She stole a glance around herself, for a second thinking about whether her quarters were ready to receive guests, before she scoffed and shook her head at her ridiculous musing. What the hell was she thinking? Why was she worried about something so trivial as the state of her new home, regardless of how pristine it currently was? She and Daryl had bunked together inside a storage unit, for crying out loud – resided in a prison, for fuck's sake! This was a luxurious mansion compared to where they had lived before; not counting Alexandria, of course.

Her studio was halfway down the hall, so she figured he would be here by now, as his strides were surely longer than hers. She bit her bottom lip as her hand reached for the lock of her door to undo it; her fingertips tentatively brushing against the knob. She repeated the motion two more times before she sighed in defeat at the preposterousness of her actions and simply pulled open the door.

She inwardly gasped and took a step back when she realized Daryl had been on the other side of the door already, arm lifted and fist formed, ready to make his presence known. It took them both a moment to realize what had just happened before the hunter quickly looked left and right in the hall and then rushed inside without a word.

No sooner than Carol had locked the door behind her and had turned in place to face him, she was in his arms; her entire body pressed firmly against his. Her own limbs flew to hug his shoulders without hesitation, and she mimicked the position of his head against the junction of her shoulder and neck. He felt her pull herself even closer to him, as impossible said feat seemed to be given the already even flush of their bodies, and he tightened the embrace more, breathing raggedly as he desperately clung to every fiber of her being. She smelled of lavender and something else he could not place, and she was as warm and soft as she had felt when he had trapped them both inside the closet the previous day.

"Sorry took so long," he whispered near her ear, puffs of air giving her goosebumps and making her gulp. "Had to make it look normal comin' to see ya. Went to see everyone else first."

"You know where they are?" she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief at his sharp nod and words. If anyone would be successful at finding the location of her family, no matter where they were, of course it would be their beloved tracker to do so.

"Yeah, all of'em," he said as he pulled his head away from her shoulder ever so slightly, only to be able to look at her blue orbs.

"Are they OK?" she licked her lips, searching his eyes for the truth, hoping she was not about to put him yet again in a situation where he had to lie to her for her sake.

"Yeah," he gave her a single nod and a small smile, nothing but honesty rolling off him. "They're good."

"Thank God!" Carol briefly closed her eyes to push back tears of relief. On top of everything she had been struggling with since last night, she had been worried sick about all of them. Hearing that they were as good as they could be, was music to her ears.

"'Bout you?" he held her chin with his index finger and made her look up at him. "Ya alright?"

"Now I am," she admitted as she opened her eyes before she ran her fingers through his surprisingly soft and clean hair. "You showered."

Daryl scoffed, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You ain't gotta sound so fuckin' surprised."

"Sorry," she said sheepishly and began to pull her touch away from his head but he caught her wrist in his hand and returned it to where it had been.

"I ain't say _stop_."

"Oh," she pressed her lips together to try to hold back a smug smile. "Like it, huh?"

"Uh-huh," he closed his eyes and tilted his head lower and forward, unashamedly enjoying her touch.

Carol could no longer hide her smile now that he was not looking at her, and allowed her eyes to wander down his form. She was not a teenager, and she had never been one to openly lust for a man, but she was unable to contain the rush of blood to her face when she took in Daryl's attire and realized how desirable he looked _and_ felt.

He smelled of a mixture of male body wash and his natural scent; something outdoorsy, no doubt. He was wearing a short-sleeve, tight-fitting grey t-shirt, his muscles practically chiseling out of the fabric itself, asking to be worshipped and touched. The jeans he wore were new, navy blue, and pleasantly contrasting with the grey of the shirt, held snuggly against his hip by a black belt that matched the color of his boots. The clothing items looked so foreign on him, but they also added to his innate boyish charm. He looked so relaxed and at peace in her arms as she massaged and scratched his scalp, youthful even and, had she not known him already, she would have thought him to be a fledgling bachelor looking for a good time, no care in the world at all. In fact, the only current hint of his true stage of life and remnants of his struggles from having survived outside were the obvious wrinkles she could see on his face now that he was so still and close to her, and the sprinkle of grey hairs on his goatee and hair.

She immediately frowned and was taken aback by that. She had seen the evidence of aging on his face a long time ago, perhaps accelerated by a stressing life, yet slower than it had shown on her, but she had not realized it had started showing in his mane too. Then again, he had not been one to care what his hair looked like, nor had he cared to cut it, so it was expected for her not to have noticed the subtle changes in his locks until now. In fact, now that she paid even closer attention, his hair color was lighter than she remembered it being, as well.

Overall, his wardrobe was nothing special or uncommon – it did not merit this much pondering on her part; it was just different than what she was used to seeing him in, and probably than what he was used to as well. Yet somehow, even the plain outfit made him stand out, and that was what worried her. It made him seem as if he was the whole package, available, and on the prowl.

For some unknown reason, this realization brought her pause. She continued running her fingers through his hair, as if her mind was not racing at what these new _standards_ meant for them in their current situation, but she kept her body from showing the sudden shift in her. This man looked so different than her archer did, even if they were one and the same, and he was also behaving differently too. Granted, he had become more comfortable with short-lived physical contact with the right people, _their_ people, and he was yet to deny her a hug or a quick kiss on his forehead or cheek. Nonetheless, this record-breaking, long-lasting, current stance of absolute submission towards her was something she had never seen on him. Yesterday's encounter had been as surprising, very much so due to the kiss they had shared. However, this somehow felt a little bit more intimate than just lip-locking. He was practically purring in her ear now, his arms sliding up and down her back, in a very un-Daryl-Dixon way.

Then again, there was something more than friendship between them now, was there not? They _had_ agreed to take the next step in their relationship, had they not? This _was_ just normal behavior for… couples… or for whatever name they wanted to give to this. He was just expressing affection to her. He just felt comfortable being like this with her while they had the chance.

On the other hand, if no one knew they were together, and survival was no longer a requirement, this novel place had just opened a whole new universe for him. For all of them. And she was unsure if they were all ready for it. For most of them, however, it meant that they did not have to go without, and that all they had to do was return to what their lives had been before The Turn. For Daryl, however, it meant that he did not have to carry the burden of finding food for everyone else anymore. That he now no longer had to watch out for anyone but himself, and that there was no one left on this planet that would make it their sole purpose to bring him down.

It meant, at the very least, that Merle Dixon would soon become a healing loss that Daryl would not have to drag around like a ball and chain. At its most extreme, it made Daryl free to be whoever he always wanted to be; find himself while in the company of whoever he damn well pleased. At the moment, it was with her. In a few weeks, he could be with that drop-dead gorgeous nurse that kept flirting with him.

Carol swallowed hard and closed her eyes, berating herself for letting her mind instill so much doubt in herself for no reason. There was no merit to the convoluted hypothetical scenario her overactive brain had just concocted. There was no logical path between making a note of Daryl's clothes to imagining him hitching up with someone else, just because there was nothing better to do in here. Or just because shit was settling in an unusual way.

 _Stop thinking like that_ , she scolded herself. _You're just being paranoid. Silly. It's just him. Just him. Still just him with you, and with everyone else._

Realizing that this man before her was still her Daryl, no matter what he wore or where they were, Carol threw caution to the wind and did just what she had wanted to do before her imagination had gotten away from her: she raked her free hand down his front, stopping only when she reached the belt hoop of his jeans and hooked two fingers there. The brazen move had the reaction she had hoped it would. The archer swallowed hard and pulled his head away from her hand to stare deeply at her; confusion, anxiety, and curiosity on his frown and blue slits.

"You look nice," she said in a husky tone she almost did not recognize on herself. "Like that look on you."

"All they got," he half-shrugged, suddenly feeling like a specimen that was being scrutinized under a rather powerful microscope, before his eyes took in all of her, very much liking what he saw. "Ya ain't look too bad yourself."

She thanked him for his compliment with a wink and a smile.

"You eat yet?" she held the right side of his face in her hand, her other hand still held onto the belt hoop.

"Nah."

He was grateful for the change of topic. He was not sure if he could keep his hands to himself if Carol kept staring and touching him like she was. Not that he thought she would mind if he had his hands all over her, but he had not expressed his feelings for her just to jump her at the first chance he got.

"Me neither. How long are you staying?"

 _As long as you let me_ , he wanted to reply, but he knew it was not safe to do so. He shrugged in response instead.

"Wanna go grab something from the Mess Hall?" Carol began, "Or should I make something here for the both of us?"

"I'll help ya," he replied as his thumbs caressed her stomach over her blouse. "I can… stay a little while after we eat. But then I hafta go. Don't know if they timing me right now."

"OK," Carol tried not to sound or look to disappointed, but one look at his crestfallen form told her she had failed.

"Hey," he cupped her face. "It's gonna be OK. Just for a little while. Just wanna keep ya safe."

"I know, Daryl," she told him, and they both knew that she did believe his words to be true. "Although, I can handle myself, you know?"

"You sure as hell can," his tone was full of pride. "Never thought I'd be one of them assholes that gets to say to people that they oughta be more scared of my woman than me."

No. She was no spring chicken anymore; believed herself to not be at all susceptible to the effects of first-love swoon, as Ed had never made her feel this way, anyway. Yet, Daryl's words made her blush down to her toes and look down towards their shoes to try to avoid showing him how much he was affecting her right now. She was not sure where his bravado had come from, and she was even more unsure of where the butterflies in her stomach had originated from. But one thing she knew was that, if she made a show of it, if she made a big deal out of his admission of belonging just now, he would probably close-up again.

"Shit."

The moment his hold on her face loosened a little after his curse word, she knew her efforts had been in vain. She knew that he had finally recited his own words in his mind. That he had at last realized what he had said to her – what he had called her. _His_. _His_ woman. And that he was inevitably going to freak out. She gave him a moment to compose himself, fully expecting him to backtrack his actions and words and, perhaps, even take a literal step away from her, but he just ended up surprising her with what he did instead.

"Is-is that… OK?"

She could hear his loud gulp resonate in her ears. Or maybe it had been hers.

"Is that what you want it to be?" she asked back, her eyes searching for his. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he replied instantly. "That's exactly what I want."

"Then, it's OK," she smiled. "It's _very_ much OK."

He dipped his head a little and then gave her a bashful smile before he grabbed her right hand and started leading her to the kitchen.

"You know they got bacon?" he sounded as excited as a child.

"Haven't raided the cupboards, yet. I was too busy crying over finding toilet paper."

Daryl laughed aloud, louder than she had ever heard him in the past, before he let go of her hand and started bringing out breakfast ingredients from the fridge while she began searching for a pan.

"What? We ain't been 'ere that long. Don't ya tell me you're all of a sudden too good for leaves?"

"I'd love to say _no_ , but my ass says _yes_."

Daryl laughed again and shook his head. "Never thought you'd sell out for toilet paper, Carol."

"Never thought I'd ever hear you say my name, Daryl," she countered.

"Yah?"

"Yup."

"Well, get used to it," he told her once she was standing next to him with a pan and cooking oil in hand.

"Well," she pushed him out of the way with her hip to place the pan on the burner before facing him, "I already am."

* * *

 **A/N:** When I wrote this, I had no idea that Eugene was going to pull the shit he pulled during the finale. I had also expected both Sasha and Rosita to be gone. I also didn't include the backstabbing Garbage People because I just didn't like them at all. Guess my instinct was correct :P Hope you enjoyed this chappie! CARYL ON!

 **Guest: This place sounds creepy And poor Daryl. I hope Carol doesn't do that, even if it would help the family. Someone else can find a way to help them.** – It does sound creepy, huh? And we haven't even heard or seen all of it :P


	3. Chapter 2

**Guest Review Responses**

 **Thank you for the favorite/follow:** Rollins1013, celia azul, translationplea27, TheSwannsSparrow, and crystal2817.

 **Guest: Love him going to see her. And I love that they decksr d themselves together.** – Little bit more Caryl here for you to enjoy ^_^

 **Guest: Enjoying this. Can't wait for more Caryl interaction.** – Thank you! You're gonna LOVE this chapter, then :D

 **Update:** I've decided to make the chapters longer to give the story the time it deserves. I suck at NOT describing things as detailed as I can, and I hate rushing situations. Sorry about that, if reading long chappies is not your cup of tea :( To start off, I've combined the chapters I already had into two long ones. From now on, all chapters will be as long.

 **Friendly reminder:** I cuss like a sailor, have a twisted mind, and write very graphic stuff.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

The living arrangements that Daryl had been describing to her throughout his stay made sense to her, somewhat – at least in a way that made it seem as if there was a silver lining amongst this separation, after all. At best, finding out how everyone else was grouped made her feel as if the rest of her family was not truly alone or vulnerable, to some extent, even if she felt that _she_ was alone.

Daryl had taken the time, between eager omelet bites, to go over in detail what he had seen and learned from finding and visiting everyone else. It appeared that she was the furthest one away from the bunch, and the only one from Alexandria living in this _block_ – this section of Arcadia.

Rick, Michonne, Carl and Judith all lived in a block that hosted families with children of all ages, where the residences resembled more to being large apartment homes rather than efficiency studios at a hotel. That specific wing had a school and a playground, as well as on-site, round-the-clock medical services, easing the burden of having to rush to the medical bay for emergencies, focusing on pediatric care. Recess and playdates were encouraged, and homework left for the kids every day. It stood to reason, for both Carol and Daryl, that children and their potential role in the future of society and its rebuilding efforts were very important for the leaders around here. It made complete sense to care for children so much – their continued existence proved to be the success of the species as-a-whole.

In the same family-oriented section, just a handful of doors down from the Grimes' place, was the Rhee's place, where Maggie, her baby, Enid and Jesus lived. It had been odd, for an instant, that Jesus had basically been paired up with Maggie to help support the ongoing care of her son and the teenage girl. It was somewhat of an unfair expectation, in Carol's eyes, to assign Jesus the parental responsibility of two kids that were not his own, even if this had been their unspoken procedure while living at The Hilltop. However, Daryl had then relayed to Carol that Jesus had requested the living arrangement to be this way, and that it had been gladly accepted and granted by the powers that be.

Then, casually and as a way of example as to why what Jesus had done made sense to him, without looking at her and almost sheepishly so; his fork playing with his food as he had softly spoken, Daryl had also confessed to Carol that, had Sophia made it here, he would have had no issue living in the family wing with Carol and the little girl. No issue helping _raise_ her. Care for her. Even if she had not been his.

 _"Blood don't make family,"_ he had then added after a pause, _"Caring makes family."_

This knowledge had given her pause, planting in her a seed of doubt at her initial assessment of this place and its leaders. Maybe they were not out to get them, after all. Maybe, this entire place was not a ruse. Maybe, all they truly wanted to do, as they had stated many times already, was to help humankind return to the glory of before. Strong family units were the way to do just that, in whatever shape or form these units had taken during the days of The Turn. The Arcadians were just trying to make the best with what they had; everyone living here having the same goal. A goal of true living, not mere _survival of the fittest_ or of _the one with the most guns_.

This feat was easier said than done. Surviving was all she and her people knew how to do. Experiencing a feeling of true living, of a worry-free lifestyle, was something that they would ultimately have to re-learn if they wanted to fit in here. Carol was not sure if she could do this. Hell, she was not even sure that Daryl could either; especially locked up underground. But she did know that they both had to try. For their sakes and for the safety of everyone else.

 _Caring makes family_ , Daryl had said, and Carol had known it to be true. As true as the fact that they both cared for their family, so very much. Enough so for them to _try_.

At another location, she had learned, a good chunk of the rest of the group lived. Tara, Eugene, Ezekiel, Aaron, Cyndie, and Jerry all shared a block; were practically neighbors, in fact, all living in two-bedroom apartment homes. Tara and Eugene were roommates, as were Aaron and Cyndie, and Ezekiel and Jerry. Cyndie's placement had been a topic of discussion for a few minutes, but no verified motive for her apparent separation from the rest of the Oceanside group had come up. Perhaps, Carol had mused, Tara had requested Cyndie to be near her. Or maybe Cyndie herself had been the one to make the request to stay away from her grandmother – and with good reason too, given their lingering fallout during the war, which was still very much deep-rooted. This left the obnoxious brat that was Rachel living with Natania instead, far away from Cyndie, on the bottom floor of Carol's block.

Lastly, Daryl, Morgan, and Carol appeared to be the odd-ones out, each living in separate locations as everyone else in their family. Daryl lived in a co-ed block and, so far, he had not recognized anyone living there. Said block was like Morgan's in some regards: full of single-bedroom apartments (not studios), larger than Carol's, and devoid of familiar faces thus far. At first, Daryl had thought that he had been placed there because of his age or gender. But when he had seen both old and young women residents walking down the hall of his block, he had realized that it was probably more of a _being single_ thing, as Morgan's block hosted a few childfree couples, while on Daryl's block there appeared to be none.

Then again, for all technical purposes, Morgan _was_ single. Unless _widower_ fell under a completely different category under Arcadian laws. Or maybe Morgan had requested to live in a peaceful block, as he was known to be fond of silence and solitude. It was clear now to Daryl how the block he lived in was probably prone to late parties and socializing to the extreme, and he had winced at that when Carol had brought it up. He hated socializing. And he hated partying. His assigned block was shit.

The archer now wondered, regrettably so, if he and Carol would have ended up in Morgan's block had they made their feelings for each other publicly known from the get-go. He would have been thrilled to share his living space with her, even if they ended up in some sort of retirement home look-alike block where playing Bingo was the only recreation option to be seen. It was not in the cards for now, but there was always later, nonetheless. They could always come out as being a couple once shit was sure and settled for good.

Daryl inwardly frowned at this realization; his eyes remaining closed and his body relaxed under Carol's ministrations despite the internal struggle he felt. He had already believed shit to be settled once – twice. First, at the prison, and then, weeks ago. Yet, here he was again – wondering when it would be the best time to set some roots and enjoy whatever time he had left to be with her. That was all he wanted to do with his life from now on, if everything else was taken care of for them all. The youngsters and families in Arcadia could worry about bringing about world peace or whatever the fuck they wanted to do. He could not care less how they went about achieving that, as long as he was not involved.

Daryl Dixon was tired of constantly running and fighting; over three years of it was more than enough. All he wanted now was spending every waking moment with Carol Peletier by his side, until his very last breath and the very last closing of his eyes. He had a strong gut feeling that this was also what she would want, if the opportunity for it arose.

Daryl was tempted to ask her outright what she thought about this – if she wanted to say _screw it all_ and request a move to his place. Her place was nice and all, but his was bigger and better, closer to their family, and it would become nothing short of perfect once he shared it with her. It would not take much either for her to make the move. Hell! He would carry all of her shit with him right now, in one go, if that was what it took for her to move in with him ASAP.

Much to his disappointment, however, Carol spoke up before he could properly form the question in his mind.

"So, what you're telling me," Carol began, her hand absentmindedly brushing Daryl's impossibly soft hair while he rested his head on her lap, his body sprawled over her couch, "Is that I'm chopped liver and I was sent to the corner like a leper."

"I ain't said that."

"Well, what else would you call this?" Carol gestured to the room with her free hand. "I get a studio and you get a one-bedroom. Talk about age discrimination."

"Don't think that's what it is. And you ain't old."

"I'm older than you."

"Not by much."

He opened his eyes and stared at her to try to gage how serious she was about her age comment, knowing damn well that the tiny age difference between them would always be a con to them being romantically involved, in her mind, for reasons he had never understood. He did not even think about their ages, though, if he was more than honest with himself. If it was OK for a man to be with a younger woman, then the reverse seemed completely acceptable to him too.

"But still older," she gnawed her bottom lip.

"Then, we're _both_ old," Daryl said in a tone that left no opportunity for rebuttals from her end. He was already over this age conversation. It was pointless to even bring it up.

"Gender discrimination, then?" she offered as an alternative.

"Any other men in here?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't left yet."

"Why not?"

"Been waiting for you."

"Oh," he swallowed hard and then turned on his side so that his face was against her stomach and his back to the rest of the room. They had all been at their new locations since late last night, and he had wasted no time exploring his room and areas nearby it. He was shocked that Carol had not taken the same opportunity to mingle and learn about whomever her neighbors were. Infiltrating a new group of people to find out their weaknesses was one of the things that she did better than any of them.

"How about we meet later tomorrow?" he suggested, "Lunch maybe? Give ya a chance to roam 'round before then."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he stole a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye. "Come see me. Take turns?"

"Take turns visiting or take turns cooking?" she teased.

He shrugged. "Both?"

"Why not today?"

"Have shit to do."

Carol's head snapped back and her hand stopped massaging his scalp. "You got shit to do? Like what?"

Sensing that all the playfulness of a second ago was going to be thrown out the window, Daryl sat up next to her and rested his back against the couch before speaking again.

"I… got an appointment."

"An… appointment?" Carol narrowed her eyes.

Daryl nodded and then began running his hand through his hair to somewhat put it back into place.

"With who, Daryl? What for? I don't… I don't understand. Are they making you do more trials? Is something wrong?"

"N'thing's wrong. Or maybe it is… I…" he cleared his throat. "I just… they gave me a shrink. I gotta see 'em three times a week."

"Dr. Gray?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Saw them scars. Asked where they came from. I guess they think I'm fucked up. Dangerous? _Unstable_ ," he air-quoted the word, indicating that perhaps this had been a term that had been used of him to his face. "They… they _know_ I'm fucked up."

"You're not f–"

"I _am_. Was before The Turn. Still am now."

"Daryl," Carol's voice was no longer sweet or joking but demanding and firm, forcing the archer to look her in the eye. "You are NOT fucked up, all right? We all had shit to deal with and we lost people and we almost died too many fucking times and we starved and…"

Carol briefly closed her eyes and swallowed down the rising anger she could feel building inside of her. She did not want Daryl to think that she was angry at him, because she was not. She was angry at the people that thought Daryl needed therapy. Granted, he probably did, as all them did too, given his troubled childhood and the fact that he had to kill his own brother to save him from being a walker forever, but it was not up to these strangers to make him feel even more broken than what she knew he already felt. They had no right whatsoever to judge him or call him out on it at all.

"We made it," she continued, "While _they_ were sheltered here, and in all their other little _facilities_ , with their fancy apartments and running water and electricity and unexpired food, we were out there, fighting for our lives. _This_ ," she pointed at the both of them, "This is what survivorship looks like. This is what the new normal is. And the quicker they come to terms with that reality, the faster they'll get to rebuild their world or whatever the hell they want to do with their time. Don't you _dare_ think, not even for a second, that there's something wrong with you. If there is, then there's something wrong with ALL of us. _All_ of us. Including them for thinking the world is like it used to be."

Without a word, gesture, or any other sound of approval or denial of her retort, Daryl lowered himself to her lap again, facing her stomach once more, but added one arm around her waist. He had not told anyone else that he had been asked to see Dr. Gray. He was not even sure that he wanted anyone else to know about it either. But he had to tell Carol – even if he had known that it would upset her as much as it had upset him – simply because it did not sit well with him to keep it from her. Besides, it was not as if he had anything else to do, and the book that he had taken from the shelter in Atlanta had only done so much to help him come to terms with what his childhood had been like. The will to rid himself of the mental scars of his troubled past was there. And now this place was offering him a way.

He would try it a few times to see what it could do for him. If he did not like it, then he would just tell the shrink to fuck off.

"What did your friend tell ya?" Daryl asked after a long moment of silence, "Know when we gonna go out again?"

It took Carol a moment for Daryl's words to click. She had been so caught up on her anger at what her beloved tracker would have to put up with thrice a week for however many weeks or months the psychiatrist deemed acceptable, and his question had seemed unrelated and out-of-place. However, once she recalled that she had not had the chance to talk to everyone else in private about what Thomas had told her, Daryl's topic of conversation became clear to her.

"Tommy said–"

"Tommy?" Daryl was not able to hold back the bitterness in his tone of voice and he scoffed. "You nicknaming each other now? Well, that didn't take ya long."

"Daryl," Carol frowned, clearly shocked by Daryl's uncalled-for nasty comment, "Tommy is what everyone used to call him back in high school, OK?"

"You say so…"

"It's true!"

"A'right."

"It is!"

"OK."

"You don't believe me."

"I said: OK."

"But you don't believe it."

"Don't matter what I believe."

"It does matter."

"It don't. But whatever."

"DARYL!" she slammed her palms against the couch, on the verge of losing her patience with him while she was trying to relay to him some rather vital information, until it dawned on her what was really going on. "Are you jealous of him? You're actually jealous?"

Daryl pursed his lips and began playing with the hem of her blouse with his free hand. "No."

"Then why does it matter what I call him? His name is not as important as what he told me. In fact, his name is irrelevant. Whatever I call him is irrelevant. Don't you wanna know what he told me?"

"Yeah," Daryl nodded sharply. "I do wanna know what Asshole told you."

"He's not an asshole. Don't call him that."

"Though we wasn't caring what we call'm. Changed yer mind?"

Carol exhaled slowly and then rubbed her face with her hands, frustrated with this vicious side of Daryl that she had not seen since the farm, and never influenced by jealousy. For a moment, she considered making it clear to him that she was not interested in Tommy, as if that much was not already obvious to him. She considered telling him that there was no need to be jealous, and that she wanted to be only with him and no one else. But then, she realized that commenting on his needless possessiveness would only validate his actions by giving them attention, and this was not something she was willing to do right now. Perhaps ever. She had already spent too much of her life trying to reassure and placate the insecurities of a grown-ass man to want to get back on it all over again.

Maybe the best course of action was to tell him his insinuations and his behavior was unacceptable. Perhaps it would be best if she nipped the issue in the bud. The new phase of their relationship had just started, after all, so it was the perfect time to set clear expectations and boundaries from both sides.

Luckily for her, Daryl seemed to come to his senses while she tossed and turned the situation in her head. Fortunately for both, Daryl came to the same realization and conclusion as her on his own.

"Sorry," he gave her yet another side glance. "I know you gotta do what you gotta do. I know you do it for us. But I ain't gotta like it. Never have and never will. It ain't like I don't trust you, neither. I do. Just don't like that you gotta do this at all."

"I know you don't like it. But that doesn't mean that–"

"That I gotta act like a prick with ya. I know. I know. I'm sorry, Carol. I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm really tryin' here."

She gave him a pointed nod of approval and acceptance that he could clearly see from his peripheral, and she then returned her left hand to his head.

"He said that now that every community is here, we'll be sent out every couple of weeks to _clean house_. Or at least the people that they think can do the job. The plan is for Arcadia to be cleared out, eventually. They want to start cleaning up small towns first, making them livable again, and then give people options as to where they want to live once they're outside."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"And then?"

Carol shrugged. "The rest is still sketchy, but Tommy and the others think everyone will have a job to do once we're out there, just like we did before everything happened. They want to reconnect basic utilities to the small towns first. Restart television and radio to make communication easier. Get the word out that it's over and it's safe to start rebuilding now… Bring the world back together. Things like that."

"Huh," Daryl turned yet again so that he was now facing the ceiling, his head still on her lap. "Those are some damn big plans."

"Yup. Huge."

"You think they can do it?" he began picking at his nails, his eyes focused intently on his fidgeting fingers, "That _we_ can do it? Settle down?"

"Start over, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Yes. If the walkers aren't an issue and people aren't killing each other, I think so. You? You don't think we could do it, huh?"

Daryl gave her a vague grunt before getting lost in thought to process her words and the impact these expectations would have on them. Rick's theory of everyone getting jobs was spot-on, and so was Daryl's own fear that all these comforts came at a cost. The price to pay for a roof and a warm meal was being forced to contribute in rebuilding society, whether one had any interest in doing just that or not. Growing up underprivileged and always wanting, Daryl knew that everything had a cost. Nothing was truly free. Everything cost someone something, even if this something was given to somebody else to enjoy. Even his free meals at school were not free: he knew that taxpayers had sponsored his breakfast and lunch because his folks were too poor to have the luxury of doing _frivolous_ things such as feeding their two children.

It was also rhetoric he had heard before. Clearing away the dead, starting utilities up again, giving new life to the society that had existed before The Turn, but starting on an obviously smaller scale. He had heard claims like that before. He knew The Governor had sold such a pitch to his people, and Daryl had been there personally when Negan had been proclaiming how the Saviors would bring back civilization, shortly before pressing a red-hot iron against a man's face, of course. And in both cases, those two bastards had set up a system where this could be achieved by everybody pitching in and doing their part, while the head honchos sat back with ten times the reward and all of the perks no one even knew about. It seemed to Daryl that the previous society had already come back, if that was how the people in charge lived off of everyone else's labor. Hell, throw the late Gregory into that pool too, while you were at it.

Then again, could they really judge Arcadians for expecting free labor in return? This had been the way of the world before _and_ during The Turn. The only difference between them was the currency used. In the old world, people earned money for the fruit of their labor. In the walker world, people earned their keep by hunting, scavenging, watching babies and the elderly, and doing house chores. Arcadia's plan of action was no different than what his family had expected of the newcomers at the prison. Everyone had to do something for the greater good of the group, in whatever capacity that was within their reach.

If the basic needs were met, and if Arcadians had the means to clear the streets of walkers, then rebuilding and restarting was not such a farfetched idea or nothing but an unattainable dream. For all he knew, they could very well be on the verge of recovery. They could all truly be near the end of the previously never-ending nightmare they had all been forced to live in for years. And this time, he did not have to go back to being a nobody. He could be someone. Someone who could hold a steady job and provide for his loved ones. Someone who did not have to shadow his brother's every move or be shunned by society because of his father.

No more running. No more wasting time. No more being in basic survival mode.

It could happen. It _was_ already happening. It was well within reach for them all.

For the first time since Daryl had been aware enough of his own existence, the hunter felt a sudden sense of purpose. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be part of the same society that had ostracized him for years. Not because he needed them, but because Carol had believed and had shown him that he was every bit as good as those people who would have otherwise avoided him in the streets. Maybe even better than all of them put together.

Above all, Daryl wanted to finally be the man of honor Carol had wanted for a long time. He wanted to build a home and a life worth living with her. He wanted to be who he had always wanted to be, with her by his side.

All those things that would have seemed pointless to consider before were now part of their new reality. He could have all those things. And he could be with her.

"Nah," he finally said, grabbed one of her hands in both of his and briefly pressed his lips against her knuckles. "I think we could."

xxxXXXxxx

Between daydreaming about how soft and eager her lips had felt against his during their long and tantalizingly slow goodbye kiss against the front door of her apartment before he had left, and picturing her in that outfit she had been wearing but he had not dared comment on, Daryl Dixon had bumped into three different people, had taken two wrong turns, and had all but walked around in circles for ten full minutes until he had finally made it to his new home. He had gone straight into the shower to stand under the coldest stream of water possible, shivering tensely with his eyes closed, the spray hitting him directly in the face.

It was all Carol's fault, really. Surely, she had dressing options other than a tight pair of blue jeans, a low-cut, form-fitting tank top, and a loose blouse that exposed more than her creamy shoulders when she moved. It was not even warm in Arcadia. It was rather chilly, actually, with the air conditioning being on all damn day in a facility that did not see the sun. She should have been wearing a sweater. Or a jacket. Or a parka. Or all of the above. And gloves, too. And a scarf. And a thick blanket. And not something that was going to be part of his fantasies for a very long time.

What if she bent over and her blouse lowered too much? What if that happened while Tommy was around? Or any other willing male? There were plenty of those around here, from what Daryl could tell, and not much else to distract people from trying to get to know each other better. And, for fucks sake, despite what she said or thought, she was not _unattractive for her age_. Had she seen herself in a mirror lately, or ever? Did she not know how alluring her big blue eyes were? Had she not noticed the look _Tommy_ had given her last night?

 _Ugh, Tommy_ , Daryl groaned as he shut off the water stream and stepped out of the shower, the man's shortened name almost making him foam at the mouth.

Thomas Clark had showed up as Daryl had exited Carol's block, no doubt heading to see her; the two men had barely missed each other in the hall – or at least, Thomas had missed seeing Daryl – by some miracle of the universe. Daryl had a nagging feeling that the man was there to make a move on his woman – the thought alone making him growl. Granted, no one knew that Carol was _his_ , but that did not make it easier on the archer to accept the potential suitors that Carol could eventually pick up while living here. He knew that Axel had had a thing for her back at the prison, and Tobin… well, she and Tobin had shared a home and a bed, however brief it may have been. But that had been before Daryl had made his feelings for her clearly known. Now that it was out in the open for the two of them, even if she was doing nothing more than her intel-gathering job, it felt as if she was somehow cheating on him.

"Don't ya even go there," he angrily patted at his skin with a towel as he continued to scold himself aloud, "It's stupid. She don't care for him. She's just using him."

 _But, is she using you, too, lil' brother?_

The archer was visibly taken aback by his mind's unexpected response.

From time to time, Daryl's conscience tended to sound an awful lot like Merle. Sometimes, like their good-for-nothing, low-life, drunk-ass father, too, depending on the situation and mood. On certain special occasions, when the circumstances were particularly dreadful, his conscience sounded like both of them combined.

 _Ya really think a fine lady like that's gonna settle for yer worthless ass? You best snap outta it and walk away while ya can. You was good for her when the world was shit. It ain't no longer shit, baby brother. She don't need ya no more. You just white trash to her 'gain._

"Shut up," Daryl threw the damp towel towards the hamper but missed.

 _What? Little Darylina gettin' his wussy feelings hurt? Did ya really believe she was gonna stick 'round once the world was safe again? Oh, no, lil' brother. You know she stuck around 'cuz she ain't got no choice 'fore. Now she does._

"Said: shut UP!"

This time, Daryl followed his response with the slamming of the bathroom door behind him before he threw his bare body on his bed and faced up.

 _You just wait 'n see, ya sorry piece of shit_.

Great. It was his father's voice now.

 _She gonna want a **real** man. Not some fuckin' pussy kid trapped in a grown-ass man's body. You can't even get it up. 'member them whores you couldn't fuck? Shit! Reckon ya mighta's well tell'r you a fag!_

Daryl bit onto his lower lip so hard that it began to bleed.

He remembered those times – the many occasions in which both his father and his brother had tried to _make a man out of him_ , by any means necessary. Both men never truly saw eye-to-eye, except when it came to their attempts at making sure someone _popped Daryl's cherry_ , as they had so eloquently put it. Daryl was not stupid, however. He knew the kind of foolish games the only family he had left after his mother had gone and barbecued herself were playing. They measured success in the amount of drugs and booze they could stick into their bodies, and in the number of women they could stick _themselves_ into. That much had always been clear to him. Unsurprisingly, Daryl Dixon's measure of manliness had never been associated with either of these things, and both Merle and Will had given him hell for it.

Words that Daryl had spoken to Dr. Gray during their initial meeting came back to haunt him now. He had told the doctor that he had not gotten his rocks off since before The Turn. Truth was, he had never been with a woman in that way. Not for lack of trying, either – Merle and their father had forced the situation onto Daryl way too many times. One time, they had even drugged him so he would not fight back against his fate. Luckily for Daryl, the prostitute had taken pity on him and had simply watched over his helpless state all night, instead of raping him as she had been paid to do.

 _You gonna die a virgin, lil' brother, while the mouse shags hard and dirty with that fucker you loath._

"SHUT U–"

 _Oh, yeah. I'm telling ya. She sooner goin' be screaming his name instead of yours._

The hunter slammed the balls of his hands into his closed eyes, hyperventilating so hard that it made his lungs burn. Where had his confidence of moments ago run off to? Why in the holy hell was his conscience doing this to him? It was not as if he needed to be kicked in the nuts while down. He already had enough issues. He did not need the extra aggravation of fearing losing Carol to some educated prick – an educated prick that could give her things he himself could not. An educated prick who did not go off on her because he was jealous as fuck.

"I apologized," Daryl defended himself against… himself.

 _But ya wouldn't hafta done it in the first place, if you hadn't pissed her off._

"She knows I didn't mean it."

 _For whatever good that does._

"Stop it."

 _Make me._

"Said: stop!"

 _I mean it: make me. I'm not even here, brother. I'm in your head. You're bitching at a ghost… ya arguin' with yerself._

Daryl opened his mouth to make another retort, but snapped it shut instead. What was he supposed to say to that? There was not even a reason to say anything at all or continue this imaginary argument. No one was really attacking him. He was all alone in his room – he was doing it all to himself.

"I'm fucked up," Daryl said between gritted teeth, the taste of iron present in his tongue. "I'm so _fucked_ up."

Dr. Gray had been right and Carol had been wrong. He needed the therapy. Three lifetimes of it, perhaps; one for his father, one for his mother, and one for Merle. Maybe a fourth one for the times the survivor life had punched him in the gut. And perhaps a fifth one, just to make sure the terrible things went away and only the good stuff stuck around.

Daryl sat up hunched by the foot of the bed, eerily motionless and almost not breathing, as if his life depended on his immobility, despite everything else around him telling him he had to move. Water dripped from the tips of his hair, soaking the fresh sheets and prickling his bare skin on his legs. The damp towel was still on the bathroom floor. His clothes were discarded by the entrance of his bedroom. He had never cared for order and cleanliness, but even he knew there was no call for living like he had before.

He needed to get up and get dressed again. He needed to pace around the room to get his anxiety out of his system before he went to see Rick again to tell him what Carol had found out. He wanted to go see Carol once more before he went to bed. And, worst of all, he also needed to meet up with Dr. Gray.

There was much to do, but he could not make himself move from where he was – not physically or mentally. The conversation with his brother – with his _subconscious_ – had him stuck where he had made permanent residence before The Turn: in a never-ending spiral of guilt, insecurities and remorse. It had not hit him this hard for a while; the last time being when he had been locked in that cell, thinking about how he had inadvertently sent Glenn to his death. It was back with a vengeance now, brought on by almost nothing at all.

Then again, it was not really due to _nothing at all_ – it was due to the gift of time. And the new situation he found himself in.

The weight of survival lifted from his shoulders gave him time to think about other things. Things that he had not wanted to think about or even consider. It had been all good and promising when he had been with Carol, minutes ago, her hand lazily and tenderly combing his hair. Now that she was gone and he was alone with his thoughts, he felt like a damned fool for thinking he could thrive here. Or anywhere, really. Be anything at all.

Without Carol, he was nothing. Without his family depending on him for food, supplies and protection, he was worthless – useless. Without any of them, he was that same lonely and self-doubting child he had once been. Perhaps, he had never truly stopped being that bruised and abused child, no matter how much older he got.

Maybe, he had just set that part of himself aside for a while, and it was now time to resurface once more.

Or maybe, what Daryl feared the most, his time for enjoying life had come and gone because maybe, just maybe, his only chance at life and redemption had taken place _during_ The Turn.

 _Leave it to the end of the world to be kind to ya, baby brother._

But the end of the world was no more.

xxxXXXxxx

"What happened to your lip?"

The first question from Dr. Gray was already irritating Daryl, and he had not even sat down for the start of their session yet. Absentmindedly, Daryl brushed his fingertips against his bottom lip and shrugged.

"Some doors don't lock. People open them like nobody's behind 'em."

The doctor narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. The lie, while almost plausible, was clearly not bought by the man. It was likely that someone new to the facilities could potentially harm themselves while being lost in thought. But Daryl Dixon was not just someone – all the high-ranking members of Arcadia were well aware of that. He had proven to be rather skilled and resilient during the survivor trials. He had not made it this far just on pure luck.

When the doctor continued to silently eye him with a skeptical look, Daryl had fully expected to be called on his bluff. Instead, Daryl watched Robert tap his chin with his pencil a couple of times before he scribbled something on his notepad and began speaking again.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But I have a feeling that being hit by a door is a walk in the park to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the archer asked as he reluctantly lowered himself onto a long couch that he was sure he was supposed to lay down on, not sit on.

 _Ain't doing that!_

"The scars," Dr. Gray pointed at Daryl's form with the tip of his eraser. "They appeared to be made by lashes. A whip, perhaps?"

 _Well, he ain't wasting no time._

Daryl swallowed hard, wanting this to be over soon, so he gave an honest reply. "Not all of 'em."

"Oh?"

"TV antenna," Daryl found himself giving out the details before he could stop himself, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down at the memories of it. "Metal. Wet. Hurts like a sumabitch."

"Interesting."

"What?" Daryl scoffed, not at all expecting such a nonchalant reaction from the man. "Never knew antennas can hurt, Doc? Yer folks too good for that?"

"Oh, no. I knew that. Lashing is a typical form of physical abuse. Just didn't think you'd have a TV at home."

For a moment, Daryl visibly bristled and thought about walking out of the room. Perhaps even knock some teeth out as a goodbye present for the doctor… until he saw the beginning of a playful smirk on Dr. Gray's mouth and he was taken aback. A second later, Daryl shook his head at the man's audacity, but he had to admit that a little respect for the doctor had come about from what he had just done.

 _Got some sack on him. Gotta give 'em that._

"Asshole," Daryl grumbled as his shoulders relaxed. He had to acknowledge, nevertheless, that the attempt at a joke had worked a little bit to ease his tense back.

"That's what my wife calls me when I try to use humor to defuse an argument with her. Most of the time, it worked."

"You got a wife?"

As if coming out of a trance, the doctor blinked twice. "Yes. Had."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Get that a lot, too."

Daryl shifted in place, almost awkwardly so, and then began picking at his nails. "M'sorry."

"I am too. But at least she didn't have to live through this. A car accident took her, weeks before everything went down."

"Drunk driver?"

"No. Just asleep at the wheel."

"Caught him?"

"Yeah. Turned himself in."

"He go to prison?"

"No, I didn't. I got out on bail, thanks to the quick work of a lawyer that I didn't ask for, but my family hired for me anyway. I was set to begin serving my sentence a few months after the date the contaminant appeared and started doing its thing."

Daryl replayed the man's answer in his mind before his head snapped up, wide and incredulous eyes staring directly at the crestfallen doctor before him.

"What?"

"I had been working late," Dr. Gray began, "I was supposed to be home hours before, but I lost track of time. By the time I realized it was afterhours, I rushed home. I'd been awake for nearly a day, deep in a new case I had. I closed my eyes for a second… woke up when I heard the scream and heard the bump. She… she had been calling me. My phone was off. She got worried. Was walking along the streets near the house, wondering if I'd gotten in trouble on the way home. It was dark. I didn't see her. Didn't even know what I'd done until the accident woke me up…"

For the second time in a day, Daryl opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he again just snapped it shut. What was there to say to this man's confession, anyway? What words could anyone possibly offer that would make the situation any better? Dr. Gray had killed his own wife, even if he had not intended to do so. Would have probably gone to prison and lost his professional license as a result, even if he had not accepted responsibility up front. The Turn had probably been the only thing that had kept him from serving time… and from properly grieving the loss of his wife. There was no undoing that.

There was honestly nothing appropriate to say, so Daryl asked something else instead.

"Why you tellin' me this? You don't know me. You don't know who the hell I am."

"But now you know a little bit more about me. It's only fair that you do, if I expect to find out a little bit more about you, too. Don't you think? There's got to be an even trade."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. The man had a point, yet again.

"I guess," Daryl shrugged. "But you ain't gotta do that. That shit… that's best left unsaid. Ain't no man want to remember how he lost his wife."

Daryl Dixon may have never had a wife – but he had experienced what he thought was almost the equivalent for his case, when he had thought Carol had died at the prison. The archer could not even begin to imagine what it would feel like to not only forever lose the woman you loved, but also being the direct cause of it too. He honestly hoped that he never got the chance to find out.

"Maybe not," the doctor continued, "But I did tell you. None of us here are innocent, Daryl. I guess maybe that's the point I'm trying to make. Your group told me the things you had to do to remain alive. They were not that much different from what everyone else here had done."

"Does that include your friends?"

"Yeah. Even them."

"Huh. What they do?"

Dr. Gray sighed. "They killed a lot of people, trying to find the cure."

Daryl narrowed his eyes again. "What?"

"Not on purpose," Robert lifted his hands in the air in a placating gesture. "Most of them were volunteers. People who weren't gonna make it, anyway."

"And the ones that weren't?"

"That weren't what?"

"Volunteers?"

"They'd already turned."

"Oh," Daryl visibly relaxed at that. He had not even thought about it, if he were honest with himself – the details of the process for undoing what was already done. The closest he had gotten to considering how a cure would have come about was when they had been at the CDC. The images Dr. Jenner had showed them of his late wife had made little sense to him. He had been able to follow along with the explanation either way, but simply because it made overall sense: a virus or something got into their bodies, did bad things to them, and there was no cure for it then. Had he seen the images only, or had read the medical terms on the screen, he would have been as lost as a handless man trying to read Braille.

"How long is the cure good for?" Daryl found himself asking, a curious thought suddenly entering his mind, thinking about what Carol had said the plans for them were. If they were going to be sent out into the open to fight the world's remaining herds of walkers, he wanted to make fucking sure that his people were not at risk of infection and death if they got bit. Be damned if they had survived this long and had gotten this far only to die while society was trying to be revived.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Gray furrowed his brow. "Like, how long does it last?"

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, happy that the doctor continued to willingly provide information when asked. "Like, how late can you get it? The injection or whatever it is. Minutes after you've been bit? Hours? Right after you kick the bucket?"

"Oh!" understanding flooded the doctor's features. "Well, ideally, you get it before you get bit. That's when it's most effective. We've found that a round of the vaccine once every three months increases the likelihood of bypassing the effects of a bite. If you get bit, but you've been getting regular doses and boosters, you may not even develop the fever and pain that come with the bite. And even if you get the fever, you won't die of it because the infection will no longer be left unchecked by the body's immune system. And even if you do die later on, of whatever cause, you won't turn at all. The contaminant mutates when the person dies to reactivate the brain. The cure reacts to the mutation and prevents the stem from going through reanimation."

Daryl rubbed his chin in though. "So, it ain't really a cure?"

"Perhaps not by definition. But in practicality, it does prevent what we want it to prevent: people turning into those mindless beasts when they die."

Daryl gave the man a curt nod, a mischievous thought coming to mind as he processed what Robert had just said. "My brother was a mindless beast… and then he turned."

Unprepared for the archer's apparent attempt at humor, let alone morbid humor, the doctor was unsure what to do next. He knew that the impact of losing a loved one to the contaminant was something no one he had consulted with had been able to brush off. In fact, it had been the cause of many therapy sessions ending in disaster. One time, he had almost lost an eye, and that had been from an elderly person. The doctor did not want to find out what two-hundred pounds of muscle could do to him right now.

Thankfully, before there was an even longer uncomfortable silence, Daryl gave him the same smirk he had been mocked with earlier, causing the doctor to laugh in relief.

"OK. Fine," the doctor conceded as he rubbed sweat from his forehead. "Let's call it even. No more jokes for now."

"Alright," Daryl said with a nod, glad that he had gotten his point across, even at the expense of his brother's demise. He loved Merle, no matter what, and his passing would always tug at his soul. But Daryl was under no illusions about his brother's rash and questionable actions and how they affected him and those around him. In fact, Daryl had always been the first one to point them out to Merle, for whatever good that had done. It was probably what had gotten him killed in the first place – Merle's first and only moment of epiphany brought on by his very own flesh and blood.

For an instant, Daryl felt a pang of regret at using his brother's brashness to make a joke. But then again, his brother's voice had been an ass to him just a while ago. With his luck, Merle was probably in hell right now, sharing beers with Joe and Gareth and Negan, having the time of his afterlife while laughing his ass off at his younger brother's current situation, anyway. Might as well return the jab.

It was preposterous, he knew it, what was crossing Daryl's mind, but it still brought a warm feeling to his heart. Fuck, he missed his brother, and no length of time would change that.

In the end, what truly mattered now was that, even though he had been extremely apprehensive about this meeting, the doctor was at least trying to make it as painless as it could be… and he was giving Daryl even more valuable information, as well. More information meant more power. And more power gave them the ability to make better decisions. At the end of the day, as long as his people remained safe, Daryl was willing to put up with these sessions every now and then.

"So?" the doctor sat straight and returned his full attention to his notepad, his sudden change in demeanor announcing the shift in the meeting's tone.

"So, what?"

"So, what can you tell me about those scars?"

Daryl hung his head, knowing the moment of truth had finally come. He bit on the edge of his thumb, cleared his throat a couple of times, and then surprised himself as he told Dr. Gray how it all began.

By the time it was over, Daryl had felt too emotionally exhausted to talk to Rick. His feet had instead taken him back to Carol's studio, practically stumbling inside when she had opened the door with a worried look on her face. Everything after that became a blur, her words sounding slurred to his tired ears. So tired, in fact, that he missed the moment Carol told him that Michonne was going to become a mom.

xxxXXXxxx

He had practically fallen into her arms as soon as he had walked inside, temporarily scaring the living shit out of her in the process because of how beat he looked and the obvious injury to his lip that he had shrugged off. She had not expected him back so soon; let alone for him to be so drained and practically asleep on his feet. Their plan had been to meet up the next day at his place and she had been looking forward to it, but this impromptu visit of his had its perks.

Such as watching him sleep peacefully next to her in her bed.

At first, she had worried that someone would get the _wrong_ – or the correct – idea of them if they saw him with her afterhours; perhaps even give them away. But the lights in the hall had already been off and the place had been deserted. Everyone had already gone to bed, even if she could tell that it was not even that late at night – if it was really night. Her sense of time was still somewhat off, having not cared about keeping track of it for so long. She did not trust the calendars or clocks in her room either, but she figured that she would have to start taking the passing of time seriously again, very soon.

Time tracking was going to be especially important to Michonne now, too. In just seven short months, she would be giving birth to Rick's _third_ child. The parentage of all his offspring was surely going to be worthy of celebrity tabloids one day: three kids, of two different mothers and two different fathers – an interesting mix-and-match situation.

 _First Judith_ , Carol counted them in her head, _Then little Hershel, and now… Rick Jr.? Little Michonne? Both?_

More mouths to feed. More innocent ones to look after. More compelling reasons to stay and make it work where it was safe.

Another baby was joining the family – a _baby_. A joyous expectation in the old world; an unfortunate liability during The Turn. Nevertheless, things were different yet again. Easier, somewhat. There were doctors now. _Real_ doctors, of all types, equipped with the proper technology, supplies and medicine. Living in-house, not miles away. They had clean facilities, not barely sterilized pseudo-clinics. They even had nurses and assistants. Trained and available medical professionals were a fact of life again.

Surely, that had to be enough. Count for something. Enough for them not to worry about bringing another life into this world, at least. However, Rick had seemed shaken when he had stopped by to tell her the news. He had not even seemed happy about it at all. It was probably just because they did not know enough yet about where they were – still did not know enough about these people to trust them with something as important as your loved one's health care and life.

Carol could understand this fear more than Rick would ever know. She was facing the same dilemma, to some extent, seeing as she had been a front-row witness to what Dr. Gray's first therapy session with the hunter had done to Daryl. He had been emotionally spent; tethering the line between feeling an overdue weight being lifted from his shoulders and having a mental breakdown because of it. It had taken her long minutes to calm him down enough for him to let go of her and accept the fact that he needed to rest. He had not even flinched when she had taken off his shoes and shirt before tucking him into bed.

He had looked so frail then. So broken. Nothing like the man that had helped her cook breakfast this morning and had joked and flirted with her. Or the man that had pleasantly surprised her by pushing her back against the front door to kiss her deeply and with barely-restrained want, his fingers splayed over her hips. He had left her in bliss this morning, until Thomas Clark had shown up.

Carol rubbed her face with her hands, dreading what her own visit with the same doctor could do to her. What it could do to whatever she and Daryl had. What these sessions could do to her entire family, actually, now that Thomas Clark had casually told her that everyone was expected to have regular visits with Dr. Gray. Some more often than others, and some for longer periods of time, but everyone all the same. And if anyone refused the sessions…

 _"Then they won't be cleared to go outside,"_ Thomas had casually told her when he had visited earlier, in a tone of voice that she had not liked. This had been something that he had failed to tell her before: Dr. Gray had to give the OK to anyone who was scheduled to leave the facility to fulfill assigned duties or tasks. So much for her believing that Thomas was being fully upfront with her right off the bat. She would have to increase the signs of reciprocation to the obvious advances he had been making on her if she wanted to get more detailed information out of him.

Carol visibly flinched at that. She would have to talk to Daryl about it, too. Give him a heads-up that her intelligence-gathering work was about to become very public, perhaps even taking place in front of him, at times. She was not sure how that conversation was going to go, but she knew that it was going to be far from all right. She was aware that Daryl could be understanding to a fault, but any man had a limit as to what he would allow his woman to do with another man, logical reasons be damned.

It did not help that Daryl was so new to this as well – starting what she hoped was a long-term, committed relationship. Perhaps the only one she would ever have from now until the day she died. She was basically new to it, too; her only genuine experience had been with Ed, and everyone knew how that had turned out. Her relationship with Tobin did not even count, in her mind. This, however, what she had with Daryl, was for all intents and purposes, their first _real_ relationship – their first try at love. And it was turning out to be quite unfair for Daryl so far. The way their status as a couple was being handled by either of them was far from being impartial to the emotionally-stunted archer, given that his first go at a serious relationship had to be kept in the dark. Hidden. And left him with no option but to allow his woman to develop fake intimacy with a second man.

And what if Daryl had to do the same? What if he had to feign interest for the nurse than would not let up? What would that do to Carol's heart? What if they got lost in a raging sea of pretending and ended up losing what they had? They had not even started nurturing their new bond, not really, and the situation was already getting out of hand.

Alas, she knew they would endure, regardless of what it could do to them in the long run. They had to. It was just the way it was. This was what they did for their family countless times. For all of them. All the time. Their devotion to them was the reason why they had not gone forward with exploring what they could be together before now – because putting everyone else's needs and wants before theirs was ingrained in their hearts and minds.

But maybe – just maybe, they could enjoy what they had before it all went to shit for them yet again.

"Merle…"

It had been barely a whisper, but it managed to startle her when Daryl's distraught voice reached her ears. She slowly turned on her right side to face him, expecting to see his eyes closed, which they were.

"Daryl?"

"No," his face scrunched up and his voice wavered, "Merle…"

Carol gulped, knowing exactly what was taking place before her. Daryl was having a nightmare, just as all of them did from time to time, very likely one where Merle died yet again.

"Daryl?" she kept her voice low and did not make any attempt to touch him. She knew that her well-meant attempt at providing physical comfort could backfire in the blink of an eye.

"Merle, no… no…"

Daryl's pleas were followed by his fists crumpling up the sheets. He had at some point during the night turned over and was now on his stomach; his nostrils flaring as strongly as if he had been running a marathon, tears running down his face, sobs wracking his chest.

"Nooooo…"

It broke her heart to see him like this; losing the battle against a dream. He looked worse now than when he had come to her for support, and she knew why. As much as she also knew that it would only deteriorate over time. He had not been having trouble sleeping in a long time, no more than usual, so it was no doubt that his session with Dr. Gray today that had unleashed the demons he had managed to somewhat silence and cage. Tonight, his nightmares would be Merle. Tomorrow, they could be of his father or mother. The day after that, they could be of Beth or Glenn. Next week, they could be of her.

Carol hated the fact that her hands were tied. _Their_ hands were tied. They were at the mercy of these people and their ways. They had been stripped of the little freedom they had once had, in exchange for the luxury of full bellies, clean clothes, and no walkers. And all they could do for now was nod and smile.

"Daryl," Carol leaned her face closer to his. "Daryl, wake up."

Daryl paused his light sobbing for an instant and Carol held her breath. His tightly closed eyes, which had been rapidly shifting left and right until now, also stopped, signaling to her that perhaps he was about to wake up. However, when the grinding of this teeth and weeping resumed, Carol wanted to get up this very instant and go hit Dr. Gray in the face with the brass knuckles on the handle of her knife.

"Daryl," Carol's voice turned forceful. "Daryl. Daryl, wake up. Daryl, you're dreaming. _Daryl_!"

His eyes snapped open with a loud gasp, his gaze not focusing on Carol's face until she called his name one more time.

"Hey," she breathed. "Hey, you're al– _AAAH_!"

In a second, Daryl was on top of her, pinning her down against the mattress. His right hand went to her neck, squeezing it so tightly that Carol immediately felt the lack of air burning her lungs. His other hand supported his weight above her head, while his legs and hips kept her from thrashing around. On instinct, both of her hands went to pull on his wrist and then to scratch at his face, trying to stop him to no avail. Daryl was strong enough without wanting to be. The feats he could accomplish while high on adrenaline were not something she could hope to fight against.

"Daryl…" she could barely speak, tears involuntary pooling at the corners of her eyes. "It's… me…"

The tracker's eyes were unfocused and glazed over, as if he was miles away; still trapped somewhere between his nightmare and present time. Yet, when she whimpered his name again, pleading him to stop, it was as if a brick wall had fallen on him, immediately shaking him back to reality and what he had almost done.

Carol took long, deep breaths when his hand pulled away from her neck, but she did not make any effort to move away from him. Daryl, however, almost stumbled off the bed when he pushed himself up from her and kneeled by her side, shock and realization slowly dawning on him. He was breathing hard. His eyes were wide. His entire body shaking. His mind refusing to believe the unforgivable crime he had been about to commit.

For what was nothing more than just some agonizingly long five seconds, neither said a thing. They just continued to stare at one another, both in disbelief at what had almost taken place, until Carol finally found her voice. She could barely choke out his name, but she did. Her throat felt as if it were on fire. But she knew she had to make the effort. That she _had_ to keep speaking, try to pull him right back to her before he closed off and hurt himself.

"Daryl," she tried again, her right arm extending towards him, hoping the touch would get him to come down from whatever guilt train he was already flying off to at neck-breaking speeds. "Please…"

"No," Daryl shook his head, his eyes now focused on his trembling hands, gasping painfully when he saw the blood under his fingernails. "I… no… didn't mean…"

"Hey," she sat up and slowly crawled towards him, ignoring the sting of the scratches he had left behind on her neck. "I know… I…"

"No," the archer cried and began pulling away from her incoming form, fearing that by just breathing the same air, he would end up killing her. "Stay back… s-s-stay–"

His next words were interrupted by his sloppy fall from the bed, not even yelping when the back of his head hit the hard floor. He heard Carol call his name, and he then felt her hands all over his chest and head, trying to gauge the severity of the injury.

"Daryl, talk to me. Open your eyes, please. Let me see… let me–"

"No!" he blinked his eyes until they focused, only to see her practically hover over him in very much the same fashion he had done so, seconds ago, but for different intents. "Carol, don't!"

He made a move to get up, making it only halfway up before his balance failed him. Without hesitation, Carol held him up in place as best as she could. She then guided him to lay on his back on the bed and sat next to him, refusing to just let him curl up and push her away.

"No… I said…" he tried getting up, but he must have hit his head in just the right way. The room would not stop spinning on him, so he flopped right back down.

"Shhh," Carol cupped his face, forcing him to stare at her. "I got you. It's OK. It's OK."

Daryl tried to deny her words yet again but, this time, what came out of his mouth was more of a cross between a groan and a painful whimper. He was clearly heading into a state of shock – a point of no return, if not stopped – unwilling to believe the damage he had caused to the woman he loved, while inwardly cursing at himself for allowing a moment of weakness to almost cost Carol her life.

Ed Peletier had not killed her. The tombs had not killed her. The flu had not killed her. Terminus had not killed her. The Saviors had not killed her. The walkers had not killed her. But Daryl Dixon almost had.

"Stay with me," Carol pressed her forehead against his, afraid of how his eyes kept losing focus. "Please, stay with me."

 _Damn that doctor!_

He wanted to push her away, physically and emotionally, keep her safe from _him_ , but the entire ordeal plus the fall were keeping him from finding his center. His body was barely responding to his will, shaking violently as if he were standing naked in the middle of a winter storm. His mind kept replaying the way she had looked under him when his hand had been on her neck – stunned and _afraid_ of him. He could feel the blood – her blood – under his nails, making him want to use pliers to pull them clean off his fingers so that he would never harm her like that ever again.

But above all, his heart cried an ocean for what he had done to her. To the one person he had sworn to that he would never hurt. The person he had told that he was nothing like the man that had beat her senseless all those years back, just for fun.

 _Why'd I tell ya, lil' brother? You just up and done it now._

The archer shut his eyes tight. "'M so–"

"No, Daryl. Don't even go there," she closed her eyes as well and brushed her thumbs against his cheeks. "It's not… you're not… Just, look at me. It's not real. It wasn't you. It's not real. You didn't do it. It _wasn't_ you."

Even though he did not feel worthy of it, he let his shaking hands land on top of hers, barely noticing when she sat on his lap and straddled him. She refused to release her grip on him, whispering to him words of comfort that were stopped only by her lips on his face. Had it been years ago – and had he been more in control of his faculties, he would have by now stood up and ran away from her; from this. He would have yelled and cussed and hurt himself in whatever way he deemed was greater than or equal to the pain he had inflicted upon her. He would have already rushed towards the hills or the woods… or to the nearest cliff to off himself.

Had they still been at the farm, he would have released his guilt onto her in the form of assigning her the blame. But they were no longer at the farm and he was no longer that hotheaded boy. Now, as she had put it, he was a man.

And a man took responsibility for what he had done. If only she would let him take it.

"It was a dream," Carol was relentless in her attempt to bring him back to her as she pulled away from his face, ever so slightly, to read the emotions on his face. "You thought I was someone else. I know it wasn't you. Daryl, please?"

He finally opened his eyes, and whatever she saw in them made her sigh in relief. She ran one hand down her cheeks to keep the tears from falling onto his face, and then pressed her palm against his chest.

"You wanna sit up? Does your head hurt?"

Unable to find any words just yet, and afraid of a possible return of the vertigo, the hunter grunted in response.

Without further prompting, and almost forgetting that she was sitting on him, Carol helped him sit up on the bed with her body still atop his lap. It was a little awkward at first, but she found a way to remain where she was without limiting his range. As he slowly found his bearings, Carol propped herself up on her knees and searched around him to look at the back of his head, moving aside his mane to find a bulging lump but very little blood. The ground had not appeared to be that unforgiving, but it was also likely that the nicely decorated floor was just painted-over concrete.

She sighed as she returned to her spot on him and brushed his bangs away from his face.

"Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Headache?"

 _All of the above_ , he wanted to reply, but opted to simply stare at her neck with guilty eyes.

When Carol noticed what he was looking at, she remained motionless and open to him as his fingers traced the red marks on her neck and the bruises that would be there tomorrow, if just so that he would see that she was not afraid of him, of his touch. She then saw him biting onto his already busted bottom lip, splitting open yet again, and she frowned.

"Stop that," she ran her index finger over his mouth, wiping away the blood that now dripped from it. "Don't do that to yourself. You don't deserve it."

"I do. I hurt you."

"Wasn't you," she insisted and lifted his head with her hands around his jaw so that he was now looking at her. "Wasn't you. You know that."

He locked eyes with her, searching her baby blues for any sign of doubt, of dishonesty in her words. He expected – _anticipated_ , after years of abuse – to see anger and disgust in her eyes. He was waiting for the final blow; for the punch or for the kick that would send him straight to the ground. He was waiting for the punishment and for the lesson that would set him straight after fucking up.

But it never came. The retaliation never came to fruition. All he got in return for his mistake was understanding and love.

"I'm sorry," Daryl's hands landed on her hips, tentatively, as if still expecting Carol to push him away without a heads-up.

"I know. I know," she kissed his forehead. "But it's OK. There's nothing to forgive. I know you. I know you."

The guilt that was clearly eating away at him was breaking her heart. It would kill him dead, if he allowed it – if _she_ allowed it. She was not going to let it go down that path. She would not give it a chance to even try to destroy him. She would do whatever it took to bring him back from the land of despair and self-loathing, by whatever means were at hand. Daryl Dixon had carried enough undue guilt in his life. She would not allow anyone or anything to drown him in any more of it.

With that idea in mind, and wanting nothing more than to let him know she did not blame him for anything, her lips suddenly found his; trying her damndest to ensure that he understood there was no harm done.

It took him a moment, but he eventually kissed her back as fervently, mutually drowning out each other's gasps. His hands became bolder by the minute, sliding up her back and then raking down until he gripped her ass. She did not seem to mind their location nor the squeeze he ventured to take, and he did not appear to care that she was starting to casually roll her hips on his groin… until her hand tugged roughly at his hair and caused him to hiss in pain and flinch back.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she exhaled, her heavy breathing and swollen lips a stark contrast to the worry in her eyes.

"Bump," he rubbed the spot she had inadvertently injured in the heat of the moment, feeling the crust of dried blood already attaching to his scalp.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry! I forgot!"

"'S okay," he gave her a small side smirk. "Did too."

"Did I make it worse? Did I pull too hard?"

"Nah. Just caught me off-guard. That's all."

"Mmhhh," Carol's lips suddenly thinned and she then looked to the side. "Well, that was a buzzkill. Unless… unless you actually wanted us to… stop?"

"What?" he momentarily frowned, but then immediately scoffed. " _Hell_ , no!"

"No?" she chanced a side glance at him, both gradually becoming extremely aware of their position on the bed; Carol wondering when it would finally dawn on him what it meant and where it would have led them to, if they had not stopped.

"No."

"You sure?" she closed one eye and stared at him, trying to make the situation less awkward than she felt it already was. Here she was, asking Daryl Dixon if he had been OK if they had gone all the way, even though they had not even properly made out on her couch.

"I'm sure," he nodded with determination that only lasted a second and a half. "Unless you think… I… I wouldn't hurt ya, Carol. Not like... I wouldn't. Just now I ain't… I wasn't… But, if ya didn't want–"

"I do," Carol lowered her voice and licked her lips, staring him directly in the eye as she repeated her response. "I do."

Daryl swallowed hard, reality starting to set in. "Right… right now?"

She shrugged. "At some point."

"But not now."

"Probably shouldn't. Your head. Should get it checked before… you know. And…"

"And what?"

She inhaled deeply, hating what she was about to ask, but knowing that they needed to close the case and clear the air, no matter what.

"Are you OK? Are _we_ OK? Your dream… that's all it was, right?"

Daryl's gaze momentarily lowered to her neck, hating himself for what he saw on her skin, and then the entire moment came crashing down on him. He had never been one to control his emotions very well, but at this moment he was way out of his depth. He had gone from sleeping to being angry to getting scared to feeling guilty to excited and then right back to being upset, all in the span of a few minutes – all without much say.

He had gone from hurting her to lavishing her. From almost killing her to almost making love to her. All too fast for him to fully process yet. All too much for one night and only one of him.

"Stay?" he heard her say after a long moment of thought and his head snapped up to watch her smiling face. "With me? Tonight?"

"Yeah," he immediately replied despite his fear that he would wake up again and finish the morbid job. "But, Carol, what if I–"

"I'll stab you," she deadpanned as she got up from his lap to lay on her side, the hormones at last leveling down. "Or knock a few teeth out. Whatever's easiest at the time."

"You promise?" Daryl asked in a serious tone as he pulled the covers for the two of them, and Carol nodded to him before getting under the blankets and snuggled up to his side.

"Promise. And we talk tomorrow?"

"We talk tomorrow."

"Alright."

After a moment of hushed bidding of _good nights_ and _sweet dreams_ , and in an unusual stretch of good luck, the rest of the night proved to be the best sleep either of them had ever had.


	4. Chapter 3

**Guest Review Responses**

 **Thank you for the favorite/follow:** bspooky3, and MsDoole.

 **A/N:** This is a different Chapter 3 than before. The chapters that were originally posted have been merged into two chapters to allow for longer chapters. Enjoy!

 ** _Trigger warning for brief implication of rape and physical abuse. Just a couple of lines._**

Also, I'm making up psychology as I go. HUGE thanks to _BettyBubble_ for kicking my ass back into gear for this one. If you haven't read her story titled _"Don't Kiss!"_ what the hell are you doing with your life? GO READ IT :D

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

The sound of the shower starting gently lulled him out of his sleep. At first, he did not recognize the sound for what it was. After a few seconds, and once his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, Daryl's senses kicked into gear and he became aware of where he was.

He turned his head to the side to confirm that he was alone in the bed – Carol's bed, and he then turned his head in the other direction to see the partially opened door to the bathroom. The thin ray of light coming from the tiny room was all that illuminated her studio apartment, but it was enough for him to see the mess he had made of her place last night. His shoes and socks were on the area rug by the couch. His shirt barely hung by a thread from the back of one of the dining table chairs. The sheets were tangled with his legs and wrapped around his torso. Lastly, to add insult to injury, one of the pillows lay discarded on the floor while the only other available pillow was tucked under his head; a realization that made him inwardly groan. This was Carol's place, and he had all but taken over it with his belongings, leaving her with nothing more than scraps of her own bed throughout the night.

 _What an asshole ya made of yerself last night, baby brother! You sure got a talent for that._

Great. Merle was up, too.

Even worse: he had a damned good point.

Daryl sat up in bed and pulled the sheets off him before he slid to the edge of the mattress. He planted his feet firmly on the floor, and then bent over slightly to get the downed pillow back on the bed. The move made him feel as if the room spun a little, which only served to remind him that he had smacked the back of his head against the concrete floor the night before. The fingers on his left hand cautiously searched the area of injury as he flinched in anticipation of the sore bump he knew he would find. When he also found a crust of dried blood attached to his scalp, he groaned and dropped his hand.

 _So much for bein' in a safe place._

 _Safe?_ Merle scoffed. _There ain't never been a safe space if we was 'round it, brother._

Oh, yeah. That statement was also accurate: Dixons always brought trouble with them. Or caused it. Without wanting to. They did not even have to try.

Following Merle's painful yet truthful observation, and as raw as the spike of pain that made him hiss and preluded the sudden rush of images to his brain, memories of what had happened just hours ago – of what he had done to Carol – returned to him. They hit him full force where he sat; like a shower of cinderblocks and anvils that appeared to have no end in sight.

 _FUCK!_

He shot up from the bed like a rocket, back straight and tense all over. He ignored the dizziness and temporary blindness that accompanied the move, and then rushed to the dinning chair to get his shirt. High on adrenaline, guilt, and shame, he put the garment on in one swift move. He then reached over for his socks and shoes. He did not bother to use any surface around him for support to pull on his socks and push his feet inside his boots as he walked in the opposite direction of the bed, where the only exit was. By the time he reached the front door, he was presentable enough to leave.

Nevertheless, despite his flight instinct demanding he made himself scarce this very instant, his hand refused to reach for the doorknob to help him make his escape. His limbs ignored the urgent commands of his fears and instead listened to his heart screaming at him that not only was leaving Carol like this not right – something that she did not deserve – but that it was the mark of a coward as well. That it was something that the man of honor she believed him to be would never do.

 _You've always been a pansy, boy! Ain't nothing never gonna change that._

Well, shit. His father was also awake. Did the crazies never sleep?

 _You tell me, Darylina. Wasn't ya the one that woke up just to try to kill the poor woman? Shit! She trusted you to get in her bed and that's how you repay her? No gratitude from you, man. She don't deserve shit like that. Not another damn time._

Daryl hung his head and closed his eyes at Merle's words. His forehead was pressed hard against the door, but it did nothing to suppress the images of her face – of her panicked eyes – as he slowly squeezed the life out of her in his dream-induced haze. She had instantly forgiven him, even if she had told him that there was nothing to forgive. She had moved past his snafu immediately. She had made it her only job to comfort him even though she had been the one to truly be hurt by his actions. Unsurprisingly, she had mostly succeeded in that regard.

 _"Stay?" he heard her say after a long moment of thought and his head snapped up to watch her smiling face. "With me? Tonight?"_

 _"Yeah," he immediately replied despite his fear that he would wake up again and finish the morbid job. "But, Carol, what if I–"_

 _"I'll stab you," she deadpanned as she got up from his lap to lay on her side. "Or knock a few teeth out. Whatever's easiest at the time."_

 _"You promise?" Daryl asked in a serious tone as he pulled the covers for the two of them, and Carol nodded to him before getting under the blankets and snuggled up to his side._

 _"Promise. And we talk tomorrow?"_

 _"We talk tomorrow."_

Tomorrow. It _was_ tomorrow, as far as he could tell. The tomorrow they had agreed upon they would use to have a conversation he was dreading to partake in. One that, had he had the option, he would avoid having for the rest of his life.

 _You can still leave, lil' brother. Door's right there. Walk ya ass outside while you can._

His hand twitched around the doorknob, but he made no effort to actually twist the thing.

 _No_ , Daryl shook his head. Disappearing on her without notice, especially after what had happened between them last night, was not the answer here.

He could not just walk out on her. He could not just leave without saying anything to her. She was his friend. His favorite person. His… whatever it was that they were now. _His_. She was his now – as much as he was hers. They were together now, even if most people did not know about it, and he owed it to themselves and to what they were trying to build together to man up and be here when she got out of the shower to have that talk they said they would have.

Yes. Staying and facing the facts was what he _should_ do. Owning up to what he had done and what would come next was what he was going to do.

With his resolve returned, Daryl slowly walked away from the door and headed back to stand by the bed. He scratched his head, thinking about what he should do while he waited for Carol to finish her morning routine. He had never spent the night with a woman – had never even taken a woman to bed, even if all he and Carol had done was sleep. He was at a complete loss at what to do next.

Should he make the bed? It was his fault that it was a mess right now, either way. He doubted that Carol would have thrown pillows onto the floor and twisted the blankets so much that they looked like churros. Or maybe it was best if he started breakfast for them and leave the bed alone, in case she wanted to take a nap later. Would she like to come out to food being made for her or would she be disappointed that she was not part of the preparations? She had seemed to enjoy it as much as he had when, the day before, they had prepared that omelet together. It had felt just right, all kinds of domestic, and everything good that they had thought would never be again in this new world.

Would she like a repeat of that? Was she expecting it?

Then again, what if he ended up not doing anything at all and just stood here like an idiot until she came out of the shower because he could not make up his damn mind as to what to do next? Would she think he was a loser? A lost cause? Or would he be lucky enough that she would find it endearing that she had so much power over him that he was rendered useless and apparently baffled by a pile of blankets and pillows, and maybe even pots and pans?

 _Fucking shit, Darylina! Just ask the woman what the hell she wants ya ta do!_

 _Oh._

That was a good idea. Another point for Merle Dixon.

Not that he or anyone else was keeping tabs.

 _I am, lil' brother._

"Shit."

The door to the bathroom was already unlocked and partly opened, so it did not take much on his part to push it halfway inside the room. He was surprised by the amount of steam that hit his skin when he peeked his head inside, so much so that it made him flinch before he could talk to warn Carol of his presence in her space. It was like a sauna room – the items inside of it barely visible and the mirror fogged up all to shit. Yet, the thick vapor around him did not stop his eyes from wandering – from finding her naked form standing under the hot stream of water inside the stall.

Back at his place – or as much as his current living quarters could be called _his_ – he had a tub/shower combination set in the bathroom, covered by two thick shower curtains. In here, Carol had a standing shower with tiled floor, closed in by a practically see-through glass sliding door. The frosting on the glass hardly provided any protection from prying eyes, leaving his to easily track the curves of her body.

He gulped so loudly that he was certain she was going to hear him, but she did not seem to notice that he was there at all; watching her like a big fat pervert while his heart beat a thousand times a second in his temples and his basic instincts conjured less-than-decent thoughts about her in his mind. He licked his lips and allowed his eyes to travel up and down her body for a few more seconds before he realized that he had no right to be doing this – that he needed to stop. While it was true that they had made out last night, and that they had talked about taking things further eventually, that did not give him the right to ogle her without her consent or her knowledge. He did not think that she would mind – he certainly would not care if she caught him in the shower, but he doubted that _assuming things_ was a good way to start a serious relationship with anyone without first establishing the mutual _dos-and-don'ts_. Especially not a relationship that had already been forged in fire and mutual trust.

He swallowed hard one more time, preparing his throat to work to alert her of his company, but the rattling of the doorknob on the front door made him jump out of the bathroom instead. His gaze rushed to the door as his ears picked up the muffled sound of cursing coming from the hall, no doubt an indication that whomever was standing behind the entrance was having a difficult time unlocking the damn thing. Daryl stood frozen in place, for a moment wondering if the would-be intruder was simply not paying enough attention to realize he was trying to open the wrong apartment, but when he then heard the distinct beep the keycard slot's light made when it turned green, the archer had just enough time to look around himself for a hiding place and then dive under the bed.

It was not until he was uncomfortably pressed between the mattress and the cold floor that he had a moment to thank whomever was watching over him that he had fit, even if it felt constricting and he could not take deep breaths. He had no idea what he would have done if the bed had had no space for him under it. He had been given no time to think much further than choosing to pretty much faceplant himself for his life. Yet, by some miracle of whomever had him in their good graces, it had worked out for him.

 _You're welcome, lil' brother._

 _Shut up, Merle!_

Then, as he realized where he was and that he had acted like the child he had once been at the slightest sign of approaching danger – running away from it rather than facing it; what he had _just_ said he would not do – he felt stupid and embarrassed all at once. Why the fuck had he panicked and hid? He was a grown-ass man, for fuck's sake! He had permission to be where he was, regardless of what his presence in Carol's room so early in the morning would heavily imply of them. He owed no one an explanation as to why he was in a woman's room. _Her_ room. Near her bed. Or rather, blatantly spying on her while she showered. They were all adults here. There was not much to hide.

Granted, and thinking about it further, he had no idea who had opened the door or to whom Carol had maybe given a spare key to her studio apartment, so perhaps hiding had been the best thing he could have done in this case. He was not embarrassed to be seen at her place, however. Everyone in his family knew how close they were – most of them suspected they were an item now, anyway. Why he had felt the sudden need to hide his presence from whomever invited themselves in, he had no clue. He was not one to air his business to people, that much was true, but he was also not ashamed of what he had with Carol, either.

Then again, maybe it was someone who should not be here in the first place. Or maybe, the intruder was someone who Carol trusted more than the archer himself, if he or she had been given free access to come into her new home at such an early hour of the day. The possibilities were endless, leaving Daryl more confused and frustrated than he had wanted to feel first thing in the morning.

 _Welcome to the club, Daryl_ , Merle's snide voice echoed in the hunter's head. _This is what ya do when the woman's husband comes home early. Too bad ya didn't even get any pussy for your troubles!_

The cackle that followed Merle's taunting made Daryl want to punch himself in the face, if just so that he did not have to hear his own mind playing tricks on him. The talk with Dr. Gray had surely given Merle and his father free reign inside his head again, something that he was pretty pissed about now that he was a tad more awake and aware than he had been last night. He had worked so hard to ignore their voices for a long time; they were useless to him for the most part. Yet, here they were again – back in full-force; pulled to the forefront of it all just because he had let his head be shrunk.

 _"Carol?"_

The male voice that suddenly filled his ears made Daryl return to reality. He did not recognize the man. The _man_. _A_ man. Whomever had called Carol's name just now. A fucking stranger, for all he knew. The person that had maybe forced himself into Carol's room without warning and to whom she was now vulnerable and exposed. Daryl wanted to slap himself for his reckless actions – would have done just that if he could have moved an inch. Not only had he acted like a dumbass by hiding for no real reason, but he had also left Carol to fend for herself in a place neither of them felt comfortable enough to be in yet.

 _Fuck. FUCK. FUCK!_

There was no question about it. He _had_ to get out from under the bed. He could not just lay there – like a used rubber, as Merle would say – and let Carol deal with this asshole all on her own. Granted, she could handle herself. She could probably kill the intruder while still naked and soapy without much effort, if it came to it, but she did not have to. She should not _have_ to. They were supposed to be relatively safe here. He was supposed to protect her, if not. He had made it his job to keep her from doing what he knew she hated to do: taking people's lives.

Before he was able to spring out of his hiding place, however, the door to the bathroom opened wide and the lights to the entire studio apartment turned on, leaving him to see Carol's bare and still wet feet standing a few inches away from his face. He wanted to find the feet of the other person in the room; pinpoint where he stood, but he just could not bend his neck that way without giving away his own current location.

 _"Tommy?"_ the shock in Carol's voice made Daryl's heart briefly stop.

 _"There you are!"_ he heard Tommy reply before he felt the dipping of the mattress onto his back. The prick was going to suffocate him.

 _"What… where…"_ he heard Carol hesitate, no doubt wondering where he was. Daryl cursed himself inwardly for the tenth time.

Carol tried to look casual as she scanned her surroundings, looking for signs of where Daryl might have gone. She had feared that he would run away from her once he woke up and he remembered what had happened last night, but she had prayed that he would tell her that he was leaving. She had hoped that he would leave a note for her, at the very least. Unfortunately, it did not seem as if he had taken any of those options, unless she had missed his voice – his goodbye. She was certain that she would never not hear him speak to her, however, if he _wanted_ her to listen to him, that was.

 _Daryl_ , Carol bit the inside of her mouth when she realized his belongings were gone. Save for the mess that the bed was, it was as if he had never been here in the first place. She had to go find him. She had to go talk to him, as soon as she could. She had to make sure that he was not carrying the fucking guilt he had not earned. More importantly, however, she had to get Thomas Clark out of her space and put him in his own, right now.

As the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked in her head, Carol's face changed from looking lost and confused, to looking angry and appalled. She had come out of the shower in just a towel, having forgone taking her clothes in with her to keep from making noise that would have disrupted Daryl's slumber. She had wanted him to rest a little longer, then make breakfast together, and then finally talk. She had not wanted him to leave like this, especially not after the rattling Dr. Gray had done to his head the day before. She had not done many things this morning to keep bad things from happening; yet, all of it appeared to have been for naught. She would have not minded Daryl seeing her like this – she would have very likely enjoyed the signs of awkwardness that the scene would have caused him if he had, but Tommy… that was a different situation all together. He was not allowed to do what she was certain he had just done.

"What are you doing here?" Carol snapped, her right hand clutching the knot on her skimpy towel just a little tighter. "How did you even get in here? I'm pretty sure my door was locked."

Tommy lifted his hands defensively and then shrugged.

"Have a master key for every room in Arcadia, in case of emergencies, of course. I figured this was one."

Carol raised her left eyebrow in such a slow and deliberative manner that it made a shiver run down Thomas' spine. She would have also crossed her arms over her chest to show him just how much she did not believe his words, if she had not been so worried that the damn towel would expose even more of her somehow. She was not ashamed of her body – the hurtful words that Ed had rained upon her for many years had long ago lost most of their zing. Still, with the loss of their power over her had come a fierce need to protect herself from unwanted attention. She had not given Thomas Clark permission to ogle her like he was clearly trying to hide doing. He needed to be made aware of his obvious abuse of the privilege of seeing her in such a state of undress; one that he had not earned and was practically forcing himself to have by simply standing where he was.

"And how exactly did you figure this was an emergency?"

"I buzzed for your room and you didn't answer. I let myself into the block and then I knocked on your door a few times. Got the same non-response."

Under the bed, Daryl narrowed his eyes. He knew for a fact that the asshole had not bothered to buzz or knock at all. He was lying his ass off without hesitation, giving Daryl even more reasons not to trust the man.

"Well, as you can see, I'm OK, but I'm not decent. I'd like to have my privacy back. I need you to wait outside while I get dressed."

"Really, Carol?" the tone of condescension in Tommy's voice made Carol's blood boil. "It's not like I haven't seen in you less before."

Carol could not help but to look annoyed by his response, no matter how true it was. Yes, they had dated for a year before she had met Ed, and they had slept together a couple of times in that time. That fact, however, did not give him the right to watch her in her current state. Nor did it give him a respectable reason to barge in unannounced and uninvited into what was essentially her home.

Before Carol could make her feelings known, nonetheless, Tommy leaving the bed and rushing to stand before her with a shocked look on his face took her aback. She had to take a small step back with how close he was now getting, if just so that she had enough space to push him away from her, if she had to. His right arm lifted, and she tensed up with the move; years of trauma leading her to expect the man to physically assault her at any moment. She was instead surprised when he tenderly and barely brushed his fingertips against her neck, his eyes narrowing as if examining a rare piece of art.

"What happened to your neck?"

"What?" her left palm landed on her neck on reflex.

"You have scratches and bruises on it. What happened to it?"

Both Daryl and Carol swallowed hard at the question; their blood turning cold at realizing that the evidence of their mishap had been witnessed by the last person that needed to see it. Daryl was yet to see the bruises as they were now, but Carol had gotten a good look at them before she had entered the shower. They were dark, angry and noticeable – painful-looking, even if she had had worse before and after the dead had begun coming back to life. The scratches were not pretty, either; the future scabs would stand out as much as the scrapes currently did. No amount of makeup was going to cover that injury for a couple of weeks. Turtlenecks, scarfs and bandages had been her plan.

Tommy's voice, which was drenched with accusation, snapped her back to reality. "Carol, _how_ did you get those bruises?"

Suddenly, Carol was sent back to a time when Ed was still alive – to the time in her life when she was still under his oppressive thumb and when she took everything and anything he ever threw her way without question. For a moment, she felt as if she were checking in at the ER; battered, broken and bruised, being asked similar questions by the nurses and doctors there that related to where she had obtained her injuries, all obviously knowing what had really happened to her but not being legally able to bring it up. They had all known, she was certain of it. Her neighbors had known. The members of the church she had attended had known. Everyone and their mother had known. However, nobody had ever done anything for her other than stare at her with looks of pity. No one had ever been able to do anything _for_ her because she had never let them. She had never pressed charges on Ed. Not once. Not even after the one time that he had left her for half-dead and naked on the kitchen floor, only to then come back to kick her out of his way towards the refrigerator to get himself a beer.

It had been a long time since she had been in a position where she needed to lie about why she was hurt. It had also been an equal amount of time since she had told herself that she would never lie to cover someone's guilt in this regard. Nevertheless, the deer-caught-in-the-headlights feeling she was currently experiencing was exactly as she remembered it to be: debilitating, suffocating, terrifying, and downright too raw for her taste. It was too much like old times. It made her feel too weak compared to what she had become. It made her feel nothing like who she was today.

With that thought in mind, Carol shook her head and closed her eyes; all the while attempting to get the dreadful memories back to where she had thought they had been buried forever despite how much they constantly tried clinging around. She needed to get her shit together and fast. This was not even the same situation as back before The Turn. Not even _close_. Daryl was not Ed, and Tommy was not a doctor. This was not the emergency room, and she did not have to explain herself to anyone. Least of all to a man that had so nonchalantly invaded her space.

"Carol," Tommy began when the silence between them extended longer than he cared for, "The bruises. How did you–"

"An accident," she found herself saying before she could stop to think about something better to say. It had been her canned response back in the day. It simply fell out of her lips without thought – an ingrained reply after years of abuse that appeared to have never really gone away. Although, technically, her response this time was the truth for once and not a lie. Daryl's attack on her last night had been a nightmare-induced accident, so her response to Tommy's inquiry was truthful, albeit carefully edited.

"An accident?" Tommy scoffed. "Seems to me, the only accident is that they didn't kill you!"

Carol rolled her eyes and took yet another step away from him. "You're exaggerating."

"Am I? Have you seen your neck in the mirror?" he pointed towards the bathroom with his left index finger.

"I did. And we're not having this conversation."

"The hell we aren't, Carol!" Tommy's voice rose, and he invaded her space again. "Whomever did this to you _has_ to pay. They can't be out there. He can't be in _here_. We don't want people like that in Arcadia."

The baseless accusation against Daryl made her bristle. "People like what?"

"What do you mean: _like what_? Like the son-of-a-bitch that did this to you and thinks that he can get away with it. With hurting others. We can't have people doing whatever they want, thinking there is no consequence to their actions. That's not what we're here for."

"Huh," Carol half-shrugged. "That's _interesting_."

Tommy was surprised by Carol's sudden arrogant look. "What?"

"Well," she exhaled, "You just made a really good point. And I agree with you. Although, that means that, if I tell you the name of the person that did this, then you can't be here either. Both of you will have to go."

"What?!"

"You said that we can't have people do whatever they want. But that's what you just did. You came in here, without permission, because that was what _you_ wanted to do. How are you any different than the person who hurt me, uh?"

"I-I…" Tommy took a step back, his head shaking from side to side. "It's not even remotely the same."

"It isn't?" Carol narrowed her eyes in feigned confusion. "Looks the same to me."

"I would never hurt you."

Carol shrugged. "Physically, no. You wouldn't. You'd only invade my space and refuse to leave when I tell you to. You only forced yourself in here, and you will probably force me to get dressed in front of you, too, because you've _seen me in less before_. But you will never lay a hand on me, right? Because _that_ would just be too much."

The venom and disdain in Carol's words did not sit well with him, but he had nothing to refute her claims with. He had done all the things she had just accused him of doing and more, even if he knew, deep inside, that it had been for her own good. For the good of the community, in fact. For _all_ their sakes, in the end.

He needed her. _They_ needed her. The Committee would not be able to go forward with their plans as they wanted them to, if Carol did not trust him. If she did not trust them. He had mistakenly believed that their history would allow him to get away with more than what he could had they not had a past together. Evidently, he had assumed too much, too soon.

He had to back down. A little.

"Fine. I'll let it go," he began walking towards the door. "But I can't believe you're still doing this. After everything, I can't believe you're still resorting to this."

"To what?" she found herself asking despite knowing that the question would delay his departure.

Tommy threw his arms up in the air in a defeated gesture. "What else? Covering for the asshole that did this to you. Thought you were past that, Carol. I thought you'd be stronger than that by now. After everything Ed did… after being out there for so long…"

Carol's lips formed a thin line.

 _Great,_ she thought with derision. He too knew about her ex-husband and what he had done to her all those years. Apparently, _everyone and their mother_ included one Thomas Clark.

It should have not been a surprise to her, however. The man had gone off to college out-of-state somewhere, but he had returned to his parents' home during Christmas and summer breaks without fail. She had not gone to further her studies after high school because Ed had not wanted her to, so she had been in her hometown every time Thomas had come back. She had not expected him to know about the dark spots in her marriage, though, but in a town as small as theirs, it was almost impossible to keep a secret or a lie. Not for long, at least. Given that he had moved on from her shortly after she broke up with him for Ed, and that she had seen him date other women, Carol had not even considered that he would have cared enough about her to know what had become of her pitiful life.

Nonetheless, he was nowhere near correct in his current assumptions at all, but she was not about to let him know that. There was no point in doing so. She did not want him to think that he had some sort of power or influence over her. While her goal was to get as much information about this place out of him as she could, this was not the time to charm her way into him by giving in. He had crossed a line and he needed to become aware of that. She knew better than to let her targets believe they could get away with whatever they wanted from her. The point was to make them let their guard down – to make them want to say or do anything for her. Not the other way around.

There would be time later to make amends with him and continue her façade – a time that certainly was not here and now.

"I appreciate the concern," Carol began, "But what I do is none of your business, Tommy. As it wasn't your right to break into my apartment, either. I need you to…" she shook her head as her eyes filled with determination. "I _want_ you to leave. Right now. And don't you ever do this again."

To her shock, Tommy had the decency to look remorseful before his head hung. He then gave her a small nod of understanding before he turned in place and opened the front door. She held her breath as he hesitated to exit; one foot already out in the hall but most of his body still inside. He swallowed hard and then lazily looked over his right shoulder at her, his voice having none of the entitlement of seconds before.

"I'm sorry for barging in here. But I'm not sorry for still caring for you."

He stood by the door for a few more seconds, his back still to her, perhaps expecting her to make some sort of reply to his comment. However, when Carol continued to bathe him in silence and made no effort to move closer to him, Tommy's shoulders fell in defeat before he finally left her home. The moment she heard the locking beep of the door, Carol allowed herself a few seconds to take a deep exhale. She closed her eyes tightly and scrunched up whatever part of the towel she was holding onto for dear life for nearly a minute, only to then shriek and jump when she felt someone grab at her ankle. Her first reaction after the scare was to reach for her knife, but she stopped when she recognized the voice of the man she was yet to see.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry," Daryl's voice croaked as he struggled to get out from under the bed, his belt buckle scratching the floor all to hell.

Carol kneeled on the floor and helped the hunter disentangle himself from the constrains of his hiding place. He straightened out his clothes as he maneuvered his release, inwardly sighing at how ridiculous he probably looked to her coming from under her bed as he was. His neck and back popped back into place as he sat on the floor, across and inches away from her, barely able to hold her gaze. He had not come in here uninvited, like Tommy had, but he still felt as guilty as the meddlesome man should feel, simply because he had not made his continued presence known to her right away. Granted, there was no way he could have done so without making the entire situation worse, he knew that. Yet, that did not diminish the shame that he carried for hiding away while she had had to deal with the arrogant dick.

He gulped and bit at his bottom lip before speaking again.

"Didn't mean to spook ya."

"It's okay. I thought… I thought you'd left."

He gave her a one-sided shrug, not having the heart to lie to her. Especially not after hearing everything that Merle and his father had been screaming at him throughout her loaded conversation with Tommy.

"Was gonna. But then stayed. I's gonna… was gonna tell ya when you were in the shower. I saw ya. Was gonna tell you I was in there. But then _he_ came in. Fucker didn't knock or nothin', neither. He just walked in here like he owned the damned place."

Carol pursed her lips, her anger at what Tommy had done only rising at hearing Daryl confirm that he had lied to her. She was sure that she would have heard the faint sound of knocking, at the least. The buzzer was loud as hell, too. The only reason why she had not known that Tommy had come inside until she had been standing in front of him was because _he_ had not wanted her to know. What if he had come in when she and Daryl were still asleep and in bed? What if he had come in here when they had been doing more than just hanging out?

Thankfully, he had not. Yet, the present reality did nothing to dispel the possibility of that exact same scenario happening in the future. She had thought that they had been safe behind closed doors. Evidently, she had been mistaken.

"I figured," Carol finally said, shaking her head in disapproval at her former flame's actions. Unfortunately, she could not call Tommy out on it without giving away the fact that Daryl had been here when it had happened. She would have to catch Tommy in the lie in another way, if possible.

"But it's a good thing you stayed," she continued, her voice turning soft and reassuring. "And that you hid, too. He would've put two and two together and make the wrong assumption about you. Are you OK?"

Daryl held back the scoff that threatened to leave him. Typical Carol, putting others above herself; worrying more about how he felt about the entire situation than about what she had had to endured. The question, however, gave him the courage to look up towards her, his eyes scanning the mess he had made of her neck the night before.

"Are _you_?"

She knew what he was really getting at – that he was gearing up to apologize to her again for something that he had had no control over, but she did not let him get that far. Instead, she moved closer to him until their knees touched. She brushed his hair away from his face, and then placed a small kiss to the tip of his nose, glad that he did not flinch away from her touch. She was sure that he had a lot of questions for her now, knowing what he had had to hear of her conversation with Tommy, but she had no trouble telling him whatever he wanted to know. If he ever built up the courage to ask, that was.

"I'm glad you're still here. Even if you had to listen to all that."

"'M sorry you had to deal with him alone."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"I know. Just wish you didn't hafta."

Daryl closed his eyes when he felt her hand cup his left cheek and he shamelessly leaned into it, if just so that she realized that he was not angry or upset at her – not that he believed he had the right to be, anyway. He pressed his lips against the inside of her wrist, but he did not pucker them to resemble the real kiss that he had wanted to place there. He did not feel he deserved to be allowed to express the gesture or relish in the pleasure it would bring him if he did, even if he knew it would bring comfort to her, too. His need to punish himself by depriving his body of something he really wanted to do was currently greater than his need to please her in any way he could. It was not rational or healthy for either of them for him to think this way, but old habits died hard and self-harm was a learned skill that would take him a lifetime to overcome.

He was just glad that she was touching him, even after what he had done to her last night. He was just grateful that she was yet to kick him out of her apartment like she had done to Thomas Clark.

He opened his eyes again when she pulled her hand away, chasing after it with his body so that he could get a better look at her neck.

Carol barely felt his fingertips under her chin gently pushing her head up so that her neck was even more exposed than it already was. She complied with his silent request, knowing that he needed to do this again. She then closed her eyes and held as still as possible while Daryl used his right hand to graze the inflamed skin he had unintentionally caused. He took his time taking in every inch of the injury, burning into his mind the consequences of his actions so that he could bring them up later, when his sleepy brain even thought about hurting her like that again.

When he sighed in regret for the fifth time in a row, Carol lowered her head and caught his hands in hers, holding them tightly as she whispered to him.

"It'll heal. I'll be OK. _We_ 'll be OK."

The tenderness with which Daryl brushed his lips against her knuckles after her reply made her want to cry in joy; her heart beaming at how much he could say to her – needlessly apologize to her – with the simple action. His eyes closed again as he started including his cheeks and nose as part of the caressing of her hands, making her want to stay like this all day with him. She had always known that beneath that tough and brash exterior he presented to the world, there had been a man that craved what everyone wanted from anyone else: positive attention and unconditional love. She had seen that part of him plenty of times throughout their years on the run, in tiny bouts here and there, but it never ceased to amaze her when he took down his walls for her.

He continued his feather-like touches against her skin, stopping only when he felt bold enough to press their foreheads together. He hesitated only for as long as it took him to blink his eyes closed before Carol felt his hands land on either side of her waist. The grip was as soft and tender as the attention he had just given her hands had been; yet, it also managed to feel somewhat protective. The thought did not surprise her, though. This was a man that could kill a walker with one arm while simultaneously holding a never-disrupted sleeping baby in the other.

The image of such a sweet scenario made her bite down on her tongue to keep herself from chuckling and awing at the premise, if just so that he did not take her random mirth as a sign of her making fun of him for whatever non-existent reason his mind would immediately conjure at the sound of her out-of-place laughter. If it had been anyone else, she would have immediately teased the hell out of them for the theoretical situation her brain had placed them in through no fault of their own, but this was not just anyone else. This was Daryl; her beloved hunter. This was whom had become the most important person in her life for quite some time now. He was someone who she knew needed and deserved to receive from her nothing but encouragement, comfort, and love – all these being things that she was willing and able to give to him.

Maybe one day, in the distant future, once they became more at ease with the next step taken in their relationship, she would share with him what she had just thought of him and his _walker-killing-while-caring-for-innocent_ skills. Perhaps, once their current tribulations came to an end and they were both at a place where they could relax and not worry about hiding from the world what they were to each other, she could steal from him an embarrassed laugh at her describing to him how she sometimes saw him as nothing less than Superman.

 _A pretend jerk with a heart of gold_ , she mused, this time not being able to hide a wide smile. Or the goosebumps and shivering that cold droplets of water suddenly running down her back caused.

"Ya OK?" Daryl asked as he pulled away from her when he felt her jolt.

"Yeah. Just a little cold," Carol sighed. "Can you give me a second? I need to get something on me."

"Sure," he said in a tone and with a head gesture that she knew was one of awkwardness as he stood up from the floor and took her along with him. His eyes averted her form as if she were standing naked in front him even though he had been staring at her and touching her while she was wrapped in just a towel for several minutes now. How and why he still managed to feel embarrassed at the though of her getting dressed after the lack of privacy they had experienced that winter without a home after the farm, she would never understand.

"It'll just be a minute," she said, her back already to him as she headed towards her dresser. "Unless, of course, you want to help me pick my new clothes. Make sure that they're easy to take off later…"

"Stop," Daryl replied as he turned around in place to face the opposite wall; probably closing his eyes tightly, too, if she knew him as well as she did.

This time, though, she did nothing to hide the loud snort that came out of her at being able to practically hear his reddening face in his huffs and in his typical response to her flirting efforts. She knew that he did not actually dislike or was hurt by her tongue-in-cheek comments. He just was not experienced enough in the matter to know how to play along. Once he did, however, she was certain that he would give as hard as he could take.

She was actually looking forward to that.

"I'm serious," he continued, even though his tone of voice said that he was everything but insulted. "Stop."

"Stop, what, Daryl? Teasing you or getting dressed? Because I think I'm at a good stopping point to quickly become naked again, if you'd like."

"Carol…"

"Mmhh… say my name again," she said as she loudly dropped the towel where she stood and started putting on her clothes, not at all caring if Daryl suddenly turned around to see her like this.

"Staaahp…" he hesitated for a second before lowering his voice an octave. " _Carol_ …"

Carol smiled. " _Never_."

xxxXXXxxx

She would have asked aloud if her day could get any worse, but she had long ago learned not to challenge the universe – it was _always_ ready and willing to step up.

Her morning plans had been disrupted by Tommy's breaking-and-entering crime, which had then in turn set the tone and selected the topics of her and Daryl's conversation after Tommy had left the premises and she had gotten dressed. The damage to her neck had done nothing to placate Daryl's feelings of guilt, even after they had shared a few kisses and caresses, regardless of how hard she had tried to hide them from view or distract him from thinking about the incident. Their light conversation while deciding what to do for breakfast had then quickly turned somber, culminating in Daryl leaving her studio apartment in a rush, with an empty stomach, and visibly upset, claiming that he was not hungry anymore. It was not as if they had had an argument, per se, but accepting her suggestion that he should no longer come to her room at night – and that she would not even try to do the same at his – had easily broken the spell they had both been living under since their clandestine kiss inside the closet.

Certainly, she had no doubt about it, he had instantly and erroneously believed that her timeout proposal was the result of her not feeling safe around him while they slept in the same bed. Obviously, part of him – the insecure part that they would both have to work hard to chip away little by little – had decided to skip the logical argument she had made that there was no guarantee that Tommy or anyone else in Arcadia with access to a master keycard would not try to pull the same stunt again, outing them in the process and destroying all their plans and acts. Putting some distance between them for now was the reasonable thing to do in this case. Limiting the opportunities to be caught red-handed before they were ready to share their news with the world was the rational thing to do.

Nevertheless, much to her disappointment, feelings and rationality were always at odds with each other. Worse of all: feelings – intense ones – tended to have the upper hand.

She had wanted to talk to him about what had brought him to her room in such a state the night before. She had wanted to placate whatever demons his talk with Dr. Gray had stirred up. She had wanted to have a rational chat with the tracker about how his actions of the previous night had been beyond his control and how they did not reflect badly on him in her eyes. She had wanted to tell him that she had had such vivid and aggressive dreams before and that she complete understood how he felt. Lastly, after sharing some quality time together and filling his belly with something delicious to lift his spirits, she had wanted to ask him for help – for his presence in her room later today – after the clusterfuck she was currently walking herself to was all said and done.

She was to have her own session with Dr. Gray today. She was not looking forward to that one bit.

She had had plans – happy plans, when she had woken up today. Now, all she had was an equally empty stomach as her heart had felt watching Daryl storm out of her apartment; not looking back at her as he had mumbled what had sounded as a pained _"No, I get it,"_ no doubt deeply wounded by her words.

He did not, that was the issue. He truly did _not_ get it. She most certainly did not want him to be away from her. She did not want to be away from him.

Carol sighed in defeat and slowed her step. Knowing that she had to give Daryl some space to think it all through and hope that he did not pointlessly berated himself about it even more was going to eat away at her until she saw him again. She had no choice but granting him the chance to process what had really happened and not what he _thought_ had happened between them this morning – what she had _really_ meant by them needing to give each other some space. She would go find him in a couple of days to clear things up if they were still murky… if he did not realize it sooner himself and sought her out first.

 _Please, don't let him hurt himself,_ Carol begged to whatever higher power felt like wasting their almighty time listening to her prayers. _Just a day or two, Daryl. I'll come find you. We'll talk._

Carol roughly rubbed her face with her hands in a desperate attempt to lock away how she currently felt. As much as she wanted to turn around right now and go find Daryl to make it all better again, she knew she could not. She _knew_ she should not. This was the best they could do, and, with any luck and time, Daryl would come to see it that way, too.

Besides, it was not as if they had broken up or anything like that. She could not even call it a spat. It was simply a difficult decision that had pretty much been made for them the moment Thomas Clark had shown up.

"Well, that's disappointing," Dr. Gray's voice startled her, yet his tone was light to ensure that she knew that he was just trying to break the ice. "Typically, my patients don't look like that until AFTER I've spoken to them."

Keeping up with appearances, Carol gave him a half-smile. "What can I say? I was always an A student. Went above and beyond, and all that."

"So, I've heard," Dr. Gray said nonchalantly as he opened the door for them, which made it dawn on Carol that she had unconsciously stopped right where she needed to be.

"I'm not sure how to take that."

Dr. Gray shrugged as he led her inside the room and closed the door behind them, his open palm inviting her to take a seat on the overly large couch while he took the chair. "What I think doesn't matter. What you feel is what counts. I'm not here to judge."

"So, I've heard," Carol replied, warning the doctor with her eyes that she too knew things about him, even if she did not know more than what she had assumed he had done to Daryl.

" _I'm_ not sure how to take that," he echoed.

After his retort, silence engulfed them as he sorted through a few manila folders to look for what she assumed was her file. Once he found what he had been searching for, he grabbed the pen he always seemed to carry with him on his lapel, and then adjusted his position in the chair until he felt as comfortable as he looked.

"So, Mrs. Peletier–"

"Carol," she interrupted him. "Please, call me _Carol_."

"Carol," Dr. Gray repeated as he wrote some notes on his papers.

 _Great_ , Carol inwardly groaned. _I'm already failing this stupid test._

"Carol, tell me, why don't you want me to address you by _Mrs. Peletier_?"

Carol's face gave away nothing of how she truly felt listening to someone call her by her late husband's last name. "Sounds too formal. Not the best way to build rapport, right? Isn't that what we're trying to do here for this to work?"

"We are. But I think that formality builds respect. And respect leads to rapport, not the other way around."

Carol smirked. "Didn't you just say that what you thought didn't matter? I'm pretty sure I heard you say you weren't here to judge."

Dr. Gray chuckled and shook his head, not at all looking insulted or put off by her using his words against him. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Sure did."

"Well, touché, Mrs. Peletier… Carol. Well played. And since we have that understanding now, how about you tell me how you _feel_ when I call you Mrs. Peletier?"

Carol scoffed. "Guess I walked myself right into that one, didn't I?"

"It was definitely a team effort. No harm in that, right?"

"Right," Carol said as she rubbed her forehead with her right hand, quickly realizing that she had underestimated the man. He appeared to be kind and unassuming, or at least he had seemed that way to her during the couple of times he had briefly interrogated her before this session, but now she was seeing another side of him she had not thought existed. This side of him was still kind and unassuming, but he was also highly calculating – deliberate in his words and replies. She did not think him a two-faced bastard or anything like that for hiding that of him until now. But she did have to silently give him props for being able to switch gears and personality traits as quickly as the situation mandated he did. As quickly as she did herself, in fact.

 _Touché indeed, Doc._

"We can come back to that later, Carol, if you prefer. We have plenty of other things I'd like to talk about. I just thought that'd be a good starting point, that's all."

"No, it's fine," she admitted, knowing exactly what other things they could be talking about.

She was not ready for that.

"I just… need a minute. Is that OK? Just need to order my thoughts. It's been such a long time."

"I understand," he said with a nod.

And he truly did. He still felt his heart break whenever someone brought up his late wife's name in casual conversation, and he had had a happy, healthy relationship with her. He still felt sick to his stomach, thinking about how she had died, even if he had been the unwilling culprit of it all. He was keenly aware of the strong bonds that married individuals built with each other over time, regardless of the success or failure of the marriage all together.

He also knew that a single, short-lived toxic relationship left a longer-lasting impact on the abused party than three lifetimes of being in a loving, committed bond. From the first time he had met with her, and before the doctors had shared with him the physical evidence of her painful past, Carol Peletier had displayed all the markings of a survivor of domestic abuse who had had just enough time to dust herself from her wounds after being freed from her captor before facing an even larger threat – a global one, at the hands of the rotting corpses that had invaded Earth seemingly overnight. Had he not been as skilled as he was, he would have missed the signs that he was sure other people did not register at all. She had become good at hiding the indicators from people, he would surely give her that – but she was not good enough to hide from his qualified eyes.

He patiently waited for almost five more minutes before Carol finally spoke again, her answer only confirming what he had already known to be true for her.

"At first, shortly after Ed died, I didn't want to be called by his last name because I felt like I no longer belonged to him. He was gone. And we were free. Free of him. We didn't belong to him anymore."

"We?"

"My daughter and me."

"I see."

Carol smiled sadly, the next words easily rolling off her mouth.

"It was easy to drop the name, too. It was as if everyone knew I didn't want to be called like that anymore. Everyone just called me _Carol_ , even if they had at least once called me by his last name. It was like they had all read my mind, and they knew that the idea of me having his last name had died along with him."

"Interesting. And whomever _they_ are, or were, did they know about what he did?"

"Yes. They did."

"Did they try to stop him?"

"Not at first. Eventually, they did. They didn't have to for long, either. He died not even a day after one of the men in the camp beat the living shit out of him to get him to stop hitting me in front of everyone."

"Is he here?"

"What?"

"The man that beat Ed. Is he still around?"

"No. Shane. He died later on. He didn't make it."

Lying did not build rapport, that much had been established already. Yet, she was also aware that Shane's betrayal and demise was not her story to tell, either.

"Did you ever become intimate with Shane?"

"God, no," Carol chuckled.

"Why not?"

"Why would we? Because he rearranged Ed's face a little?"

"It wouldn't be unexpected, if you had."

"Maybe not. But we weren't like that. At all. I'm pretty sure we weren't each other's type, either. He… he was a hothead. He became a little unstable, after a while. Had a lot of pressure to lead on his shoulders, I guess. To help protect the camp. Plus, he had his eye on someone else. And I wasn't looking to jump into any man's arms just for that."

"That was wise of you."

"I had my daughter to think about, too," she gulped and then looked towards her lap. "I tried to focus on that."

Dr. Gray agreed with a nod as he jotted down more notes, clearly noticing the topic of Sophia made Carol distraught.

"So, once you felt like you were no longer his property, or whatever the hell he saw you as, why didn't you go back to using your maiden name?"

Carol flared her nostrils in a mild irritation. "How did I know you were going to ask me that next?"

"Because you're an intelligent woman?"

"I can buy that," she joked, wanting to hold onto the lighter mood as long as she could before she was forced to break it again.

"What was your maiden name, anyway?"

"Newman."

"Newman. Carol Newman. It has a nice ring to it."

"It does. It did, but… Even now, after all this time – after everything that tied me to the person I was with Ed is gone, and after everything I had to do to survive… I'm don't feel like Carol Newman anymore, either. I'm just _Carol_."

Dr. Gray nodded again, pausing for a few seconds before speaking once more. "Carol Newman. Carol Peletier. Carol."

Carol laughed bitterly. Hearing the doctor carefully listing her names in such a serious manner suddenly made her feel ashamed of voicing her thoughts.

"I sound like a crazy person, huh? Making such a big deal out of names."

"No. Not at all. The power of a name is fascinating. It's one of the main aspects of humans that give us identity, you know? In some ancient cultures, in fact, it's believed that otherworldly beings that want to harm us – demons, if you will – cannot overpower you unless you respond to your name… if they even know your name, that is. It tells you something, doesn't it, that even supernatural beings need your name to connect with you. It goes the other way around, too. Exorcisms, for instance, require the member of the clergy to know the name of the demon they are trying to vanquish. Names are part of us. They have a history. An origin. There are some names that people only need to hear to have a strong emotional reaction to it. I'm sure the name _Ed_ got to you for a long time. Froze you in place, perhaps. Maybe, sometimes it still does."

Carol nodded with resentment. "In my dreams. My nightmares. It does, sometimes."

"And that's perfectly normal. But… and this is where I go into advice mode: it doesn't have to be. You can change that. You can take that power away from a corpse by giving yourself a new name. A new last name, at least. I think you're pretty happy with _Carol_ as the first name, though. It suits you."

Carol smiled, easily understanding the reasoning behind the doctor's words. He was not incorrect in his assessment either – she knew that her lack of last name was related to the fact that she did feel as if she did not belong anywhere. She had felt disconnect from the world; from who she had once been before killing so many people. It had been what had led her to flee Alexandria for a while – to leave her family and perhaps this world. Back then, Morgan had hounded her for it and had constantly pushed her to accept herself and what she had done. Later, Daryl had done what he could to help her remind her that they were not ashes – that they were not dead. Then, at that porch in what would have been their new home in Alexandria, he had been ready to show her they could start over yet again, together. It did not matter who they had been and what they had done to survive.

Daryl had long cared for her no matter what; even if he just now had started to call her by her name to her face.

"Dr. Gray?" the question came out of her before she could gather enough sense to take it back. "Why would someone close to you never call you by your name?"

The sudden question took the doctor by surprise.

"You mean by your given name? Do they use a nickname instead?"

Carol shook her head. "No, just… _Hey_ … or… Or you just know they're talking to you when they do. You… you don't know why or how, but you just know. Even if they _never_ say your name."

"Mmhhh," the doctor tapped his chin with the pen. "Is that something that Ed did? I wouldn't be shocked if he did. A man not calling a woman they are courting by their name is a way to exert dominance."

"Dominance?"

"Yes. Like I said, someone's name is part of their identity. When a partner refuses to address their other half by their name to them or to other people, even when the situation calls for it, and there are no nicknames involved either, it's a clear show of power. It could also mean that the man is a Casanova and is afraid to call you by the wrong name."

"Mmhhh…" Carol puckered her lips in thought. "What if… what if it's just a friend, not a partner? What if… what if your name is spoken to others, but not to you?"

"Well, that's an interesting case."

"Interesting: _oh, there's a good reason for it_ , or interesting: _I'd like to write a book about this weirdness you've got going on_?"

Dr. Gray threw his head back in laughter and then lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was so unprofessional of me, but it was a good one. And definitely the first kind of _interesting_. Not the second one at all."

"Oh," she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes. So," he cleared his throat, "Is this person – this friend of yours, interesting in pursuing a serious relationship with you?"

"I don't know. Don't think so?" she lied. "Why does that matter?"

"Why does it matter that he never calls you by your name?"

 _Damn it!_ She had fallen for it again!

"I just… find it odd. That's all."

"I see," he decided to humor her blatant lie for the sake of the argument. "Is he still around?"

"Who?"

"Your friend that doesn't call you by your name?"

"No," she lied. Partially. Technically, Dr. Gray had not clarified what he had meant by _around_.

"Oh, that's a shame."

"Why?"

"Well, you could've asked him. Hear it from the horse's mouth. I don't know everything. And if he's not here for me to speak with, I can't really give you an answer that I can say with almost absolute certainty is the right one. Plus, that would have been better addressed at a joint session with you and him."

"Well, I can't ask him, so… what's your best guess?"

"My best guess?"

"Yeah."

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not your friend was interested in being more than your friend."

" _Why_ does that make a difference?"

"Because, if he was genuinely interested, and if he was not trying to exert dominance on you, and he wasn't a womanizer… he was simply afraid of you finding out what saying your name to you would do… to him."

Carol narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Look, when courting, one of the many ways a man demonstrates his intentions to a potential partner is by learning their name, by any means thinkable, and then by stating their name to the potential partner as many times as possible while in conversation with them. The sound of the other person's name is thrilling to them. It excites them. It… it can very well wake up instincts buried deep within the reptilian part of the brain that relate to basic needs and wants, such as sexual desire and the need to mate. Most men are able to keep it civilized, so to speak. Some others, however, those who have not been socialized enough or have been at the receiving end of physical or mental abuse, may not be as equipped to handle the physical and emotional responses the name of their person of interest brings out in them. The power of a name is especially meaningful to them – more than it regularly is. In their case, because of their lack of social skills or because of a history of past abuse, using their potential partner's name has such a powerful effect on them – but in reverse, that they refrain from saying the name as a means to protect themselves from being humiliated or hurt."

"In reverse? What do you mean: in reverse?"

Dr. Gray scratched the right side of his head. "It's hard to explain, but… OK. Let's go back to when your daughter called you _Mom_ for the first time. Do you remember that?"

"Of course."

"How did that make you feel?"

Despite the painful inquiry, Carol found herself smiling at the thought. "Important. Realized. Like I'd done something right."

"OK. Now, I assume that you called your daughter by her name many times. I bet you said her name as often as you could."

"I did," Carol replied after a long pause, already seeing where the doctor was taking his train of thought.

"All right. Since she passed, how many times have you said her name? Not as often, I'm sure."

The lump that instantly formed in Carol's throat at the thought of Sophia's name kept her from uttering a word. Nevertheless, the unshed tears and a slight shake of her head was enough of a response.

"That is what I meant by _in_ _reverse_. The name that used to bring you joy – that should have only brought you joy, makes you sad. Uncomfortable. It makes you feel inadequate. Maybe even defeated. Your friend, the one that never called you by your name to your face, deeply cared for you, whether he showed it or not. He was afraid to give you that much power over him, so he never said your name. And not because of anything you did wrong, or because he didn't trust you, but he because he didn't know how not to be hurt by it. He didn't trust himself not to hurt you, too. He probably didn't even believe he deserved to feel the happiness he felt when he thought about saying your name. I'm sure he felt it, proudly for a moment but then begrudgingly after that, when he said your name to other people. I bet he said it a lot to others, because that way he couldn't get hurt. He could justify using your name to others because other people would need to know who he was talking about. But he couldn't do that with you because it meant something very special to him. Saying your name to you was probably something that was extremely intimate for him. And he had no idea what to do with what he felt."

 _Intimate_ , Carol swallowed hard, her hands suddenly feeling tingly at remembering how delicately Daryl had held them and kissed them earlier today.

Intimate – a word she could have used to describe the times he had opened up to her and had shown her who he really was.

Deep in thought, she eventually lost track of how much time had passed since Dr. Gray had last spoken. All her mind could do now was slowly playing in a loop that day in Alexandria, when Daryl had said her name to her for the very first time – before they had been dragged to Arcadia against their will. She had been shocked by it – pleasantly surprised, in fact. And it had only added to the moment she knew was building around them. The way he had ran towards her. The way he had held her in his arms. The way he had stared into her eyes as he had said her name. Everything Dr. Gray had just said completely added up. It all made sense to her now. So much so that it almost broke her heart.

Almost.

Or maybe it had.

"Had that man lived, Carol," Dr. Gray's voice turned sympathetic when he realized how much his response had affected his patient, "Were he still around, and if my assessment of his social skills or abuse were correct… if he were alive today and he called you by your name," the doctor shook his head in awe, "That might as well have been his confession of love for you. Saying your name, and saying _I love you_. Same thing in his mind."

The widening of her eyes and her barely contained sob made the doctor flinch.

"I'm sorry he's gone, Carol. He sounded like a good man."

All Carol could do before the doctor shifted the conversation to Sophia, was nod.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"She… she-she…"

Carol sobbed and covered her face with her hands. She could no longer keep her voice from cracking, no matter how hard she tried, even if she was reaching the end of her tale. Her face was red, wet and puffy. Her entire body shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm. She had emptied Dr. Gray's already-opened tissue box, and she now was well on her way to empty a second one. She was not even sure how she had managed to be so open, vulnerable and honest with him; someone who was practically a stranger in a foreign place to which she had no asked to be brought – but she _had_ been candid. She had not left anything to the imagination or unsaid – there had been no point in doing so.

It was probably because he was the first person to hear her story without throwing her looks of either pity or judgement. He had been simply nodding along, asking clarifying questions when appropriate, and had remained as neutral and stoic-looking as anyone she had ever seen in her life. Even herself. If she had not known any better, she would have sworn that the man was entirely uninterested in what she had to say. However, given the nature of his job in Arcadia, she knew that this was not at all the case.

She had told him everything about losing Sophia on the highway and then about the attempts to find her, all without curling into a ball. In fact, after everything she had told the doctor – including about how she had many times asked God to kill Ed, and how she had then later bargained with the almighty to exchange her life for the safe return of her daughter – how or why the man before her was yet to call for a straightjacket and high-caliber sedatives for her, she would never know.

Perhaps, it was because she was not threatening him in any way. Or maybe, it was simply because, as the official therapist of all the survivors on this side of the country, he had probably heard worse before. Whatever the reason, she was grateful that it was a licensed professional hearing her story. A normal person who had not been there with her through it all would have probably called for her to be burned at the stake.

Carol opened and closed her mouth a few times, her face still behind her hands, trying her best to force her vocal chords to work as she needed them to finish her sentence – her story. Yet, all that continued to come out of her were heart wrenching gasps for air, and never-ending waterfalls of tears. Talking about Sophia would always be painful for her, no matter how much time passed since she had gotten lost in the woods. The myriad of what-ifs that her mind so easily concocted would always make it worse – _haunt_ her – make her wonder if different choices would have not led Sophia to die slowly, hungry, alone and scared. Carol would go to her grave pondering how different her life would have been if she had left Ed before the world went to shit. Wondering if, had she stayed at that shelter in Atlanta, would have things gone a different way for her daughter and herself.

Would she and Sophia still be alive now, perhaps finally taken in by a community like Arcadia near Georgia? Or would it have been her and her daughter that Daryl would have put down instead when they had been at the shelter in Atlanta on their way to rescue Beth?

Would she have met her family anyway, even if she had not been with Ed at the time the shit hit the fan? Would she have met Daryl here instead? Would Sophia have made it to today instead of herself? Would people she knew to be dead still be alive? Would people who were alive now be dead instead?

Could have. Would have. Should have. Damn the human brain's tendency to dwell on what could not be changed! The truth was that it did not matter in the end. What mattered was what had happened; not what she wished would have taken place instead.

"She was in the barn," Dr. Gray's voice pulled Carol back to the present, and she dropped her hands from her face in pained acceptance of his words. "She'd turned and she was placed in the barn, wasn't she?"

At a loss for energy, yet grateful that the doctor was able to piece the conclusion by himself, Carol nodded and sobbed.

Dr. Gray pursed his lips and flared his nostrils, as if a small part of him had wished that he had guessed the end of the account incorrectly. However, there was no way he could have misinterpreted where Carol's story would go. There was no way a reasonable person could not discern the tragic ending the little girl had met when seeing her mother's eyes full of tears and regrets.

No. Not even the most positive person on the planet could have listened to her story and not conclude that the poor child was dead.

He slowly put down and to the side the pen and papers he had been scribbling on during Carol's recollection of events, and he then hunched over in his chair. The look on his face gave away the fact that he was deep in thought for almost a minute; probably measuring the weight of his next words to his grieving patient, or maybe doubting that what he had in mind needed to be said. Carol could almost hear the typical responses that she was certain would come out of him: _I'm sorry for your loss_ or _That must have been hard_ , but what he said instead shocked the hell out of her.

"Can you…" he wrung his hands and did not meet her gaze, "Can you tell me about the bruises? How they got there?"

Carol narrowed her eyes at him, a sense of dread pushing her voice to work again. "What bruises? You mean the bite on Sophia?"

Dr. Gray shook his head and stole a glance towards her before he stared at the floor once more.

"The bruises on you neck. Can you tell me who gave them to you?"

Carol stood up straight, anger and betrayal quickly building inside her at realizing that her initial suspicions had been correct. She risked looking down at her clothes while he was not directly watching her to confirm that there was nothing out of place that would have uncovered the spots on her neck. She had made sure that she covered them with skin-colored gauze and then wore an almost suffocating turtleneck. Even if she had pulled at it a little while she had been sobbing her heart out for the past twenty minutes, there was no way that the rather observant doctor would have seen enough of her skin to tell the injury was there.

No. This was not a wild guess or an accidental noticing during the session. The doctor had been aware of the bruises all along.

"Tommy told me about them," the doctor confessed when he realized that Carol was not open to answering his question until he provided more context for her. "He said they were pretty bad. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Carol snapped, the trust the doctor had been earning from her incinerating on the spot. "But did he tell you how he saw them? Did he tell you he _broke_ into my apartment?"

Dr. Gray grimaced. "Yes. He did. For the record: I don't agree with what he did, either. You did the right thing, kicking him out and telling him he was wrong. I told him the same thing. He was… he _is_ sorry about it."

Carol scoffed.

"He is, for what it's worth," Dr. Gray continued, "Not as sorry as I think he should be, but sorry enough not to do it again. If he does, you come tell me and I'll talk to his boss about it. What he did is unacceptable around here."

Carol's eyebrows rose. She had not expected this reaction from him. "Really? I thought he was your boss?"

"He's not my boss," Dr. Gray almost sounded appalled at the idea of reporting to Thomas Clark. "My boss and his boss are the same person: Dr. June. Me and Tommy owe him being alive today. But Tommy and I don't owe each other any favors."

"Oh?" Carol was sincerely taken aback by the revelation. "Here I thought Tommy was some head honcho or something, seeing as he has a master keycard with him."

"We all do. I have one. Annette has one. Dr. June has one."

"The dog has one…" Carol rolled her eyes.

"We don't have dogs here," Dr. Gray said. "But if we did, and if it was Dr. June's dog, it probably would."

Despite the annoyance she felt at the doctor prying more than he should have, Carol could not help to chuckle at the man's joke.

"I would prefer a dog breaking into my apartment, to be honest. At least I can buy his respect and silence with a treat."

Dr. Gray laughed and lightly shrugged. "But that's it. No one else has access to everyone's quarters. We do because we're responsible for transitioning newcomers to the community. Eventually, it won't matter. Once we start going outside again – once you and your family help us take back the cities, one by one, everyone will have all the privacy in the world, just like before. Think about it: Annette, Tommy, Dr. June and myself all have master keycards. That means any of them can break into my room, too. So, we're exactly in the same boat."

 _The same boat…_

Carol shuddered as she crossed her arms over her chest, opting to ignore the memories that the phrase the doctor had used brought to her. There was no sense in drowning in remorse for something that was already done and could not be changed. Paula and her crew were long gone. The Saviors were gone. They had no bearing on what she would do, say, or _be_ next.

The reminder could have not come at a worse time, however; yet the doctor did not seem to notice her discomfort with the common saying. For that, Carol was more than just a little glad.

"Unless he catches you in nothing but a towel," Carol began, trying to deviate the conversation from where it could head, "I don't see how that's supposed to make me feel better."

"If he catches me in nothing but a towel, I'll drop it and joke's on him. You don't get to be my age without earning some wrinkles and other unmentionables… _everywhere_."

Carol threw her head back in laughter, but she added nothing to the man's self-deprecating humor attempt.

"I'm dead serious. I'll do it in solidarity for what he did to you today, how's that sound?"

"Sounds like I might have to find a way to make him break into your apartment."

"Fair enough," Dr. Gray smiled for a second, happy that she had at least calmed down some, but he then turned serious again. "Look, Carol, I didn't mean to upset you with the question. I'm just making sure you're OK. Tommy, he... he really cares about you. You haven't been here for long, but Tommy is really worried about you. I think… I think he's interested in you."

Carol sighed. "We know each other from before. High school, actually. A long time ago."

Dr. Gray raised a single eyebrow and tilted his head to the left. "Really? Well, that is something I didn't know. Son of a bitch is a sneaky one!"

"Isn't he?"

"Yeah!" the doctor scoffed, shocked that Thomas Clark had failed to share that crucial bit of information with him. It could put a wrench to the Committee's plans, if they did not already know about it. "In any case, I'm not here to judge or tell anyone what happened. But I _am_ here to make sure you and your family are safe. Is there anything you want to tell me about those bruises on your neck? Anything at all?"

Carol bit the inside of her mouth to reign in the first answer that wanted to come out of her. She wanted to tell the doctor that it had been his doing that she now sported ugly bruises on her neck. She wanted to tell him that it was _his_ words and questions that had driven Daryl to new levels of pain that she had been unable to scrape off him. She wanted, more than anything, to make it clear to the doctor that if he did his job that well once more – that if he put Daryl through the same ache, she would be the one breaking-and-entering into his home.

And she could, too. She still had the key she had taken from Annette when the nurse had been too busy trying to get Daryl's attention.

Nevertheless, there was no way she could have made any of the statements she wanted to make without giving away more information that she was willing to share for now. Even if the doctor had been kind and accepting when listening to her talk about Sophia… even if he had been honest about knowing about her bruises and about what Tommy had done, she could not afford to let her guard down. If she told him about Daryl, if she so much as hinted about him being the reason she was going to cover her neck for weeks, there was no telling what kind of danger she could put the archer in. If she instead lied and said that she had hurt herself, she had no doubt that the deceitful confession would put her on a high-risk list that she was sure would earn her being placed under constant surveillance.

No. Neither option was worth the trouble.

"Carol?"

Carol looked up, coming out of her trance only to find that the doctor had, at some point during her silent musing, stood up from his chair and was now siting next to her on the couch. He kept a respectable distance between them, but she could tell that the gesture was made to incite some level of higher trust in him. This session had been a rollercoaster of emotions for her, as it was. She was not sure how she felt about opening up even more than she already had to him.

Finally making up her mind about what to reply, she swallowed hard as she subconsciously adjusted her turtleneck, and then gave the doctor a tight smile.

"They'll be gone in a few weeks. And they won't be there again. Ever."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"And if they are?"

"You'll be the first one to find out."

Dr. Gray eyed her up and down, as if searching for a hint of dishonesty in her words, but he quickly gave up when he realized that she had put up her walls again. Instead of trying to break through them once more, he simply gave her a nod, accepting what she was willing to offer, and he then extended his hand for her to shake on it.

"That sounds like a pact."

"It is," Carol replied as she clasped his hand a little harder than what was merited, " _If_ we're done for the day."

The doctor gave her a wide smile, perhaps also glad that the torture was over for now, and then offered to help her stand up.

"We are, my friend," he patted her hand twice with his before leading her towards the door. "We are."

xxxXXXxxx

They had to admit, without a doubt, that this was one of the most diverse and interesting groups of people they had ever brought to the compound. The stories they had heard of them while reaching Alexandria were all true – all so terrifyingly accurate, despite how farfetched the anecdotes had all seemed. Tales of heroism and sacrifice, of extreme actions made in the name of unconditional love amongst otherwise total strangers; all as real as the day was long.

The good, the bad, the ugly, and the downright sacrilegious. All true on all accounts.

"This one is very ill. Dying, actually. I doubt they know it, though." Dr. June's voice resonated in the barely lit conference room where the Committee met.

Annabelle Schultz, the Head of the Committee picked up the folder that Dr. June had just unceremoniously dropped on the table and skimmed the contents of it.

"How can they not know? The symptoms are pretty obvious to a reasonable person."

Dr. June shrugged noncommittally. The Head of the Committee was not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination. All she had going for her was a great deal of knowledge of how the U.S. government _used_ to work – and where all the _good stuff_ was kept.

"They probably can't tell what's off and what's just the result of prolonged exposure and malnutrition. It's a miracle they are not all in worse shape as they are."

"I guess," Annabelle replied. "What else do we have?"

"This one's pregnant. We'll be running all the required tests on her. Make sure she stays on track," Annette Brown said, half-reading from the medical records she had in her hands.

"He can hunt," Charles Burns, another member of the Committee, said. "We don't have many of those around. We should have him teach others and take the team outside. Start laying off the food we have stashed so that we have a backup."

"Agreed," Dr. June began as he lazily grabbed yet another folder from the stack, "And this one can work with the science group. He might be willing to go to Zion to join the rest of the nerds over there. Keep him busy and away from meddling."

"Do you think he'll leave his group? His people? You know that's always a problem with everyone we bring here," Annabelle said, nothing but annoyed at the sentimentality that these survivors displayed. It had been this sentimentality that had caused the epidemic to happen in the way it had. She had seen it with her very own eyes, and it had pissed her off – it had ruined her carefully laid out plans. Much to her chagrin, it was a known fact in the Committee that it had been human emotions that had set a damper in the perfect execution of the Wildfire Project.

"I'm sure he will," Dr. June offered, "He seems like he joined them because it was convenient. And if he doesn't, we have ways to… _persuade_ him to make the decision to leave."

"Not that soon, though," Craig Moss, a third member of the Committee, offered. "We can't make the same mistake we made with the last person we tried that on."

Dr. June groaned. "Yes. That son of a bitch. At least he isn't useful enough to us. No great loss there."

"Speaking of useful," Annabelle began, "Do we have matches with the samples?"

"Don't we ever," Dr. June said with a bright smile before he stood up from his chair and directed everyone's attention to the small screen at the end of the room. As soon as he arrived at the projection, he tapped the screen to remove the screensaver and then began the slideshow of evidence that backed up his report.

"Sample 325A and sample 477G are an exact match. We also found matching results for sample 998T and sample 1389B. _That_ , we didn't expect, but it's not a major drawback given where they are now. Also–"

The door suddenly opening to reveal Dr. Gray's form interrupted Dr. June's speech, earning Robert disapproving looks from everyone in the room.

"What took you so long?" Annette asked, not really caring that the doctor was late, but simply not looking forward to the drama she knew his tardiness would bring to the group.

"The session ran for longer than I thought it would."

"Peletier?" Tommy asked, barely able to contain the look on his face that said he wanted to know if the doctor had gotten to the bottom of the origin of Carol's bruises.

"No. Jones."

"And?" the Head of the Committee asked even before Dr. June had a chance to sit. Patience was always non-existent in meetings like these.

"I haven't finished talking to everyone, but the ones that can go outside are cleared."

"And the names are…?" Annabelle inquired, as if she would even remember the list in five minutes. She just liked to ask questions, Dr. Gray had learned, to give an impression that she was always watching and aware of anything happening around her compound. She was, however, in Dr. Gray's eyes, nothing more than a poor leader with even poorer people skills. The psychiatrist would have never approved her former high-ranked assignment in the government before The Turn, if he had had a say in it.

Aware that he was unable to change the past, Dr. Gray instead focused on pulling out his own set of folders from the briefcase he had brought with him and read the names from his notes to answer the woman's question.

"Rick Grimes, Morgan Jones, Daryl Dixon, Carol Peletier, Aaron Neal, Paul Rovia, Tara Chambler, Ezekiel Curtis, Jerry Ausage, and Cyndie Park. Everyone else, as we all already know, is disqualified from leaving the premises for clean-up operations."

"Have you told tell them they can't go?" Tommy asked.

"Not yet. I will meet with the rest in the next few days. I will tell them then."

"I have a feeling they will not like that," Annette said.

"It's not their choice to make," the Head of the Committee replied.

"No, it's not," Dr. June agreed before he returned his attention to the images on the wall. "They'll learn to accept that. They all do."

"And if they don't?" Dr. Gray asked, his mind replaying some of the stories he had heard from the survivors in the past couple of days. If there was one thing he had learned from the Alexandrians while speaking with them, it was that they were everything but pushovers.

"Then we do what we've always done," Heather Zinn, yet another member of the Committee, said in a bored tone.

"With this group? I… I just don't think that our usual methods will work them," Dr. Gray said.

"And why is that?" Tommy asked.

"Their experiences out there," Dr. Gray shook his head, "They are the worst I've heard from anyone, ever. _Ever_. These people… they're made of steel."

Annabelle scoffed. "Steel? We'll that's good to know, Robert. That means we can break them – just like we've done with others before who don't see the value of what we're building here."

"Steel is tough," Dr. Gray argued.

"Only when it's not set to boil," the Head of the Committee replied. "And you know how much I love to watch things heat up. Make them hot enough to bend to my will… but not burn. And steel? Steel is malleable at the right temperature. Stays put once it cools. I like steel. Steel is good."

Dr. Gray hummed, his lips sealed tight.

"Is that disagreement I hear in your voice, Robert?" Annabelle challenged. "Do you _disagree_?"

"Does it matter if I do?"

The Head of the Committee smirked. "I suppose not. Actually, I know that it doesn't. Not one bit. Please, proceed, Dr. June. We've wasted enough time as it is."

"I agree, Anabelle," Dr. June told the Head of the Committee, knowing better than to go against the volatile woman's words. " _I_ agree."

xxxXXXxxx

She had aimlessly wandered the halls for almost three hours after she had left Dr. Gray's office, but the restless energy refused to dissipate, let alone allow her to think straight. Her nerves were shot by the exchange and they had not stopped haunting her even though she had put up a brave front towards the end of the session. Her emotions were set to high and they had started to really cripple her the moment she had left the room. Talking about Sophia had opened wounds that she had thought had been tightly closed and healed long ago. Speaking about one dead child had led her to remember all the other children that had been lost. One by her own hand. The others by her lack of immediate action.

She had never told anyone about Sophia's demise in such detail before. She had never had the need to do so, either. Anyone who she cared enough to tell either already knew the gist of it from others, or had _lived_ the tragedy with her. Anyone who was unaware of who Sophia was, they just did not have the need to be in the know. The doctor _had_ needed to know – even if she had not wanted to tell. Right now, however, as she forced herself not to try to find where Daryl lived to seek comfort from him to prevent blowing their cover, she really felt like she should have not said a thing.

"Dammit," Carol cursed under her breath, frustrated that she could not make her hand stop shaking long enough to insert the keycard into its slot. This was her third try – her third attempt at trying to achieve something as simple as unlocking her fucking front door, but the weight of the session kept her from doing so. She was tired; physically, mentally and emotionally. She could literally drop dead this very second in the hall, for all she cared.

Drop dead.

Just like Sophia had done so when Rick had pulled the trigger on her walker form coming out of the barn.

Drop dead.

Just like Lizzie's body had fallen onto beautiful flowers after she had put a bullet in the back of the trusting child's head.

The thought made her bite her lower lip to keep herself from wailing out in the open, and she then dropped her card onto the floor when the taste of blood coated her tongue. Her left hand flew to her mouth, pulling it away only to see the evidence of her small injury. Carol then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose before she kneeled to gather her keycard.

As soon as her knees touched the floor, the will to stand abandoned her – the feelings she had been fighting against since leaving Dr. Gray's office finally besting her. She pressed her forehead against her door, the keycard that had forced her to lower herself to the floor now forgotten in her right hand. The longer she had stayed out here – the longer she had kept the emotions to herself while in the public eye, the harder it had become for her body to respond to her need to hide. It was a chore just thinking about having to stand up again – an insurmountable task to simply open a stupid door. She had expected her talk with Dr. Gray to rattle old ghosts, but she had not anticipated being at the receiving end of the amount of unbridled and suffocating feelings that she was currently struggling to control.

This was just the first session with him. How was she supposed to make it through sharing everything else? How was she supposed to talk about how T-Dog had pretty much sacrificed his life for hers? Or how much it had hurt to find out that Lori had not made it? To admit that she had not been there for her when she had needed her the most? How the fuck was she supposed to recant what had gone through her head when she had decided to kill Karen and David? What would he think of her when she told him that she had been banished for her decision? And what about relaying everything else she had done since then? Admitting to taking lives without hesitation for the sake of her family?

More importantly, how was she supposed to keep her cool and façade for the sake of her loved ones when her current state of mind made her want to wear her heart on her sleeve and run to Daryl for support?

No. This was not going to do it for her. For any of them. She needed to get a grip on herself, right fucking now. She needed to pull from the same pool of selflessness that she had drank from when she had blown up Terminus, or when she had fought the Wolves or the Saviors. She needed to put on the mask and carry on. She did not have time to lick her wounds out in front of everyone. She could not let others see her weak and in shambles.

Then again, had not that same train of thought made her almost lose who she was? Who she had always wanted to be? Had not that belief of not having time to care for herself or to mourn led her to seek isolation? Was this not the reason she had wanted to die before?

Morgan had been there for her then. He had killed for her when all she had wanted was to be put out of her misery. Then Daryl had kept her on her toes and had pushed her to do anything she had to do to survive the war – told her that what she did to keep her family safe did not define her. He had kept drilling into her head that they had to do what was needed to win; that this new world called for such actions, and that there was no way to live without doing them. Above all, he had made sure that she knew that he was there for her, every step of the way, and that he would gladly do for her what she could not force to do herself.

" _Ya ain't alone!"_ he had yelled at her at the height of the war, when she had almost sacrificed herself protecting her family when other options had been clearly available to them, and he had barely been able to keep her from biting the dust. _"Ya ain't_ _ **never**_ _been alone. I'm right here! Been right here with you this whole damn time!"_

He had then almost crushed her bones when he had pulled her against him in a tight hug while asking her to promise him not to do something so stupid ever again. She had clung to him just as tightly and she had promised him that she would take better care of herself. She had sworn that she would try. She had assured him that she would not give up her life unless there was no choice.

She had kept all of her promises. It was the reason why she was still here.

Just like then, he _would_ be here with her, right now. He would grieve with her, if she let him.

He had trusted her to come seek her comfort when he had been in the same situation she was in right now. It stood to reason that he was looking forward to doing the same for her, too.

 _Daryl_ , Carol shuddered. _I need to find him. I need to–_

A hand suddenly landing on her left shoulder made Carol's eyes snap wide open and she looked up, locking gazes with soft eyes that were very close to her. She had expected to see Daryl or Tommy – perhaps even Dr. Gray looking back at her, but who she saw made her furrow her brow. It was a total stranger – yet another one, yet this individual appeared to be everything but a threat.

"Are you all right, child? Why are you on the floor?"

 _Child?_ Carol's look of confusion grew, but she could not make herself voice her shock at the term. The small woman before her did not seem to notice or care that Carol was puzzled, however. She simple pressed on.

"You're new here, right?" the ancient-looking woman said. "You came with a new group?"

"Yes," Carol managed to reply after clearing her throat, wondering how someone so old and frail had made it this far. "Just moved in."

"I can tell. Haven't seen you around before. And I know everyone. Or, anyone in this block. And a lot of the people in other blocks. The nice ones, at least."

Carol licked her lips and gulped. She had no idea what this chat was supposed to be about or where it was supposed to be leading, but she was confused enough to continue speaking either way.

"Can I… can I help you?"

The woman smiled and ran a hand down Carol's head, as if she indeed saw her as the child she had just referred to her as.

"Oh, sweetie, I was about to ask you the same. You've been on the floor a while. If alcohol was allowed in here, I'd think you were drunk and I would've brought you a baggie to puke. But since alcohol is not allowed here, something else must be going on."

Carol blinked rapidly and then shook her head to clear it. This old lady was simultaneously making and not making sense at all. Her words were clear and known, but her message was still coming across jumbled for some reason. She then looked left and right to see if they were the only people in the hall, and she found that they were not. A much younger woman with a child stood by the door across from her own, both looking as uncomfortable with the situation as Carol herself felt.

"Are you sick?" the woman pressed her hand on Carol's forehead. "They've got good doctors here. They've kept my arthritis in check. Want me to get them?"

"No," Carol replied. "I'm… not sick. Just… I just…"

Carol pointed behind her, in the general direction of the exit of the block, prompting the old woman to look that way as well. The short lady stared curiously down the hall for a second, and then at Carol; a look of understanding suddenly appearing on her face.

"Ah! You went to see Dr. Gray, didn't you? That's why you look like shit warmed over, huh?"

"Grandma!" the young woman snapped from her position by the door as she covered the child's ears. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. My grandma sometimes forgets how to be polite."

"And you sometimes forget Jay is deaf," the woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "There's no harm in me swearing occasionally. I'm sure she's not offended by it."

"I'm not. It's OK," Carol found herself saying as she slowly stood up from the floor, the energy to do so finally coming to her. "I'm sorry to have worried you. Bothered you. I should go."

"Nonsense, child!" the old lady began, "Tell me: am I right? Did you go see Dr. Gray?"

"Yes."

"First time?"

"Yeah."

"Then there's no way in hell I'm gonna let you be alone right now. That doctor, he's good. Too good. No one should have to be alone after seeing him for the first time. Especially not after you just got saved from being out there with the crazies. It does things to you."

"It's… I… don't want to be a bother…"

"You're not. We've all been there, child. We've all had to face the guilt. The truth."

Carol sighed and briefly closed her eyes before returning her attention to the stubborn yet well-intentioned woman before her.

"Thank you. Really. But I'd rather–"

"Don't," the woman's jolly tone suddenly changed and it took Carol aback. "Keeping it in… acting strong… that killed my daughter. I couldn't help her. But maybe I can help you. Please?"

The look on the woman's wrinkled face said it all. She was doing this as much for herself as she was doing it to be supportive of someone else. Carol needed comfort, and this woman needed to feel useful. She was not her family – she was not Daryl; but she was someone who was open enough to approach her without fronts. Someone whose only agenda seemed to be making up for mistakes that had caused her a great loss.

Carol could identify with that. She most certainly could.

"Maybe for just a few minutes?" Carol conceded, seeing no harm in bonding with her neighbors like this. It had already been the plan, anyway. This would just make it easier to do so. "I'd also like to nap for a little while."

The woman's eyes lit up and she grabbed Carols' hand. "Of course! I'll make you some tea. It'll help you relax. Do you like tea? Peppermint?"

Carol could not help but smile as she allowed herself to be dragged towards the same door that the younger woman and child had abandoned for now.

"Peppermint sounds great."

xxxXXXxxx

He had always craved silence and solitude. It was the only environment in which he had ever felt comfortable being. It was one in which nothing was expected of him; one where he could be alone with his thoughts and process things without interruption. It had always been the perfect atmosphere for him, yet also so difficult to come by. Back then, he had found it only in the woods while hunting or while running away from his angry father. Later, it had been found in the tombs at the prison, despite the awful memories that part of the fortress brought to him. Here in Arcadia, however, silence and solitude were abundant. They were right there, all around his room and all for the taking. Yet, as ironic as it was, he found himself wanting neither of them.

Right now, this very moment, he found silence to be judging and solitude to be punishing. He did not want to be here by himself. He wanted to be around family – around the people he loved. He wanted to be around _her_.

 _Why?_ Merle's voice in his head almost made Daryl want to crave silence again. Then again, silence was what was allowing his father and his brother to pitch in their unwelcome views. _You wanna yell at the woman again? Leave her wondering why she hangs around a jackass like you?_

"No," Daryl replied to the emptiness of his room, completely aware that he was talking to himself, but being unable to stop it. "I didn't mean to yell at her. I didn't really yell _at_ her. I just… just…"

 _Ya just mumbled like a brat and hauled ass outta there. Left the woman with her words in her mouth._

Daryl gnawed the side of his left thumbnail. He had no defense for that.

He had overreacted. He knew that now. Yet, it was a tad too late to apologize for what he had done. Or perhaps it was too early. He knew he would make the same mistake again, in time, so maybe telling her that he was sorry today was too preemptive on his part. Hell, for all he knew, he was making yet another mistake right now, sitting on his ass doing nothing to make it up to her. She had been placed in a precarious situation by Thomas Clark this morning, which had then led to her being unjustly snapped at and abandoned by Daryl, only for her to then have to go see Dr. Gray herself. It was bad enough to go see a shrink on a good day. Going to see one when you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed could only be akin to taking a trip to hell. At least, that was how it had been for him.

Daryl rubbed his face with his hands. Being alone with his thoughts and throwing himself a pity party was not something he wanted to be doing at the moment. What he wanted was to go find Carol. He wanted to speak to her. He wanted to ask her how her session with Dr. Gray had gone. He wanted to offer his arms and his support while they both cursed at the doctor together, all until she told him that she felt better and that she would be all right.

And then, after exchanging a tender moment together, he wanted to lay his head on her lap; feel her fingers threading through his hair. He wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in the moment – in the chance to be alone with her. He wanted to relish every second she allowed him to be near her. He wanted to make up for all the times something had gotten in the way of them being happy together. Above all, he wanted to make the best of whatever time they had left on this Earth.

This last wish of his was the reason why he had been upset at her suggestion to not see each other again as often as they had done so for the last couple of days. His hope of spending as much time with her as possible had been trampled – with just cause – and it had been too much for him to take. He had already been upset at hurting her the night before. Then, hearing Thomas Clark speak to her in such a manner after breaking into her home had pissed him off. The last thing he had wanted to battle against was her asking him to put some distance between them. The last thing he had expected was for Carol to take away the new and exciting thing that just started between them. Now that he had had a taste of it, however brief it had been, he did not want it to stop. Hiding it from the others had been one thing. Having to let it go altogether was another.

 _But she ain't say we oughta stop_ , Daryl reminded himself. _She just said we gotta be more careful._

 _And you threw a fit, boy_ , his father mocked him. _Women don't like them tantrums from a man! Easiest way to get rid of a woman is by acting like a little bitch._

 _It could've been worse_ , Daryl thought, opting to ignore his father's words. _I could've almost hit her, like at the farm._

While it was true that he had come a long way since then, he still did not have his temper under complete control. He was aware of that – it was a family trait, after all. He would need to go through a couple more lifetimes for that to be the case. If he had been able to control his emotions, he would have talked things out civilly with her. A man with a healthy handle on his emotions would have known, then and there, that what she was saying made sense. He would have agreed that what she was proposing was the right thing to do for now. Yet, he had allowed the pain of losing the little time they already had together to drive his actions and words.

It was exhausting, this push and pull. The highs and lows. It needed to stop.

While wrong and untimely, what had happened this morning did not define who they were to each other – _what_ they were to each other. They still needed to talk about it, to clear the air, but nothing that had been said earlier today was enough to keep him from being there for her, if she needed him. Given that she would see Dr. Gray today, that she was probably in his office right now, he knew that she was going to need him; just as much as he had needed her the night before. There was no universe in which he would not make himself available to her.

He looked up at the clock above his television set and groaned. If his calculations were correct, she still had an hour or so to go until she was set free from the office from hell. After that, he would probably have to wait a few more minutes before he stopped by Maggie's and maybe Morgan's, if for no other reason than to make sure he did not give away his true intentions by going straight to her room. Maybe, it was best if he had someone go get her and bring her here or to Rick's. It would be less suspicious if someone else was present with them while they hung out. Maggie or Rick would not bat an eye if he held Carol in his arms and pressed his lips against her forehead while she cried. They would probably just leave the room.

Daryl felt like an idiot. Carving out moments together was not really that hard, now that he thought about it more carefully. They had their entire family supporting them. So, what if they could not spend too much time alone in their respective rooms? Who cared if they were not able to share a bed at night whenever they felt like it? It was only temporary, for a good cause, and not the end of the world. Shit! The end of the world had already happened, and they were still here.

That was a good plan. That was what he would do – should do. He just had to wait for the right time. Maybe stop being such a hothead, while he was at it. And perhaps answer his damn door, too.

 _What?_

Daryl held his breath for a moment; his eyes and ears focusing on the door until he heard the knocking once more. The familiar scene briefly reminded him of the incident this morning, which set his body on high alert if just for a second. He almost expected the door to suddenly bust open to reveal an angry Thomas Clark; the man having somehow figured out it had been him who had hurt Carol and wanting to confront him about it. Worse yet: maybe it was the equivalent of the police for this place, ready to arrest him and kick him out for good as punishment for his transgression.

Thankfully for him, neither of these two scenarios took place. All that ended up happening to the door was being at the receiving end of yet another knock… and his ears picking up the soft uttering of his name behind the entrance.

 _Carol?_

Daryl's heartbeat sped up.

Could it be her? Was her session with Dr. Gray over and done?

Daryl jumped from the couch and rushed towards the door, not even bothering to use the peephole to check who was behind it before he opened it. He had Carol's name on the tip of his tongue; his heart dying to utter it, but instead he snapped his jaw shut at the sight. The person in front of him was neither expected nor welcomed. And she was definitely not Carol, either.

In fact, he was now realizing that he had been a dumbass to think it could have been Carol coming to see him. He would have had to buzz her inside his block for that to be the case. There was no one else in his section that would have let her in but him.

 _You're some kind of stupid, Darylina. Not all women's voices are the Mouse's._

Daryl bit the inside of his mouth. Fucking Merle and his completely fucking valid points.

"Hi," the green-eyed nurse coyly said to him. Daryl simply narrowed his eyes at her, so Annette kept talking. "I… Can I… I thought that maybe you… May I come in?"

"Why?" Daryl's posture on his doorstep left no room for delusions. He had not expected visitors, and he most certainly did not want them.

"I, well…" Annette looked left and right, as if a good answer to his question hung in the air. "I was worried about you. Just… wondering how you're doing after seeing Dr. Gray."

Daryl hummed but added nothing. He just continued to stare as she struggled with what to say.

"So, are you OK?" she asked before suddenly narrowing her eyes. She took a step towards him, her fingers almost brushing his mouth, but he pulled his head away at the last second. "What happened to your lip?"

"Door," he said without thinking, just briefly recalling the lie he had told the shrink.

"Oh," Annette said before she looked at her shuffling feet and then shrugged. "I can look at it for you. I _am_ a nurse."

"S'fine," he answered instantly, wanting her hands nowhere near him and her presence gone.

This time, it was her who hummed in response, and then her shoulders sagged when he did not try to continue the conversation she was barely able to keep alive. He was not sure what she was expecting him to do or say. They did not know each other, and they owed nothing to one another, so her visit was more than just unwanted. It was annoying.

Moreover, he did not feel like talking to her about it, even if he had needed someone to talk about his session with Dr. Gray. If he was going to tell anyone how he felt about the talk with the doctor, it would have been – and it _had_ been – to Carol; not someone who Carol claimed had been flirting with him.

 _Flirting_ , Daryl further narrowed his eyes at the thought. Carol had said that Annette had been flirting with him, but he had not been able to tell. He had not been looking for it, either. He did not even know how women flirted – other than Carol, of course, and only because she made it obvious. Why would anyone want to flirt with him, anyway? He did not know, and he did not care. He was not interested, and it did nothing for him in the least.

 _Unless…_

Suddenly, an undesirable yet potentially fruitful idea came to mind.

Carol had said that Annette had been distracted enough with him that she had been able to steal her keycard from under her nose. Which meant that, if the same logic applied, if he pretended to reciprocate the flirting, even if just minimally, she would be unfocussed enough to let other things slip from her mouth. Things about this place that would otherwise take them forever to learn. Things that Carol would not have to pry out of Thomas Clark by means he was sure would not be honorable at all.

Thomas Clark had already proven to him and Carol that he did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, no matter who was affected or insulted by his words or actions. The little shit had already shown them what he thought of Carol, too: he believed that she was already his just because they had screwed around when they had been teenagers.

In Daryl's eyes, Thomas Clark was no better than Ed Peletier, even if the former never laid a hand on Carol. Ed had been a monster not only because he had beaten his wife and maybe his kid, too, but also because he had been a manipulator. He had chosen to manipulate mostly with fists. Thomas Clark manipulated with words. To Daryl, there was no doubt that both men had been cut from the same cloth. Just because they chose to implement their manipulation techniques in different ways, that did not mean they were not one and the same: both Ed and Thomas had wanted to get something out of Carol that she had not wanted to give.

 _Over my dead body, he will!_

If he could help it, and he knew he could, Daryl was going to make sure that Carol did not have to relieve her past just for the sake of recon. Two could play at this game and, in his case, he had less to lose. Being the male, he was expected to make the first move – to woo a woman and do whatever it took to try to gain her approval and consent. He did not even have to really want it – he only had to make her believe that he was working towards it. He knew that she would wait. He knew that _Annette_ would wait.

On the other hand, Carol would have to play along with whatever Thomas wanted her to do – whatever he wanted them to do. She could play hard-to-get for a while, but for her recon mission to work, she would eventually have to give in. A time would come when she would not be able to say _no_ or deny him what he asked for without Thomas growing suspicious of her true intentions. A time would present itself when Carol would be put in a situation where she would have to give more of herself than he knew her to be willing to give.

Daryl had no doubt that she had acted this way through all the abuse Ed had inflicted upon her. He knew she could do it again. Yet, that did not mean that she had to. He had not been there to stop it then, but he sure as hell was here now. He was not going to let it be the case once more.

"The first session is rough on everyone," Annette said in a last attempt to start a conversation, taking Daryl's long pause to be his way of showing his disinterest in her.

Despite his intended plan of action, and not yet knowing how to even set it in motion, Daryl's mouth twitched in disapproval of her words.

"He tell ya my business?"

"No, of course not!" she shook her head. "I just… I'm _your_ nurse."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

Annette sighed, looked left and right, and then shrugged.

"Do you really want us to have this conversation out in the hall, where anyone can hear us?"

Daryl hesitated for an instant, knowing that if he gave in right away, she would not buy into his charade – especially not after he had been short with her since he had been brought here. After another moment, looking reluctant and resigned, the archer made a show of stepping out of the way and leaving enough room for her to come inside his room. It took no more than half a second for the woman to take the hint before she rushed past him.

"It's just the protocol," Annette began to explain as she watched the archer close the door behind him. "Every new group we bring in, that's the way it goes. Every group gets assigned a nurse, a doctor and a psychiatrist until they earn full clearance. Everyone in Arcadia and in other places like it had to go through the same process."

"So, ya keeping tabs on us? Is that it?" Daryl asked, keeping his distance from the visitor, his arms crossing over his chest to make sure she knew he was unhappy with her response.

The bulging muscles on his flexed arms distracted her long enough that even Daryl noticed the slight blush that crept up her neck and face, but he opted to not comment on it just yet.

"We're just trying to help your transition be as smooth as possible. I can't imagine how hard it must be to believe any of this is real after being out there for so long. Alone. Not knowing if it was your last day on Earth."

"I wasn't alone."

"I mean… no… I guess not," Annette shrugged. "You had your family with you, right?"

"Yeah."

"But, I'm sure some days were harder than others, right? I'm sure some people didn't make it here with you, right?"

A pronounced bobble of his Adam's apple was the only response he gave.

"Do you…" she pointed towards the couch, "Do you wanna talk about it, maybe?"

"With you? Someone that ain't never was out there to begin with?"

"I'm the only one here right now, aren't I?"

"I guess," he said after a pause.

It was not by choice, but she had him there. And it was not by choice, but he agreed to talk to her… for Carol's sake.

xxxXXXxxx

As soon as he saw Annette lock herself in her room, just a few doors down from his, he rushed out of his block as quick as his legs could carry him. His only destination was Carol's apartment – the only place he knew would help him get rid of the feel of having the nurse practically all over him. He was unsure as to how he had been able to keep a straight face throughout it all, even if all they had done was talk. Nevertheless, he was certain that his first step at misleading Annette had gone well, so there was that.

It took him almost no time to reach the entrance of her block and press the buzzer to announce his arrival. He had not even been paying attention to his surroundings as he had made his way here. He had gotten to the main entrance almost on instinct, even if he had not traveled this path enough times as of now to do so as flawlessly. Then again, things that related to Carol had always left a great impact on him. It was as if his mind worked thrice as hard to learn and remember anything that pertained to her. It was the same for her, he knew. She was one of the very few people to remember every single thing he ever did or said.

She was, in fact, one of the very few people that had ever given a damn about him.

However, at this very moment, she was not already buzzing him in.

"Carol," the hunter said as he pressed the buzzer for her room a second time. "Hey, it's me."

Nearly half a minute went by of absolute and practically uncomfortable silence. No response came from the other end for him.

"Hey," the archer insisted, his right index finger bent at a weird angle against the button on the wall. "Please, buzz me in. Carol? _Carol_?"

"She's not in, child," a voice behind him startled him enough to physically flinch as he turned around to face a very old, short woman, a slightly taller younger woman, and a small child.

"What?"

"Carol. You're looking for her, right?"

Daryl's only response was to stare at the unknown trio up and down; unsure of how they all fit into this. The older woman was not at all deflated by the lack of verbal response, however, so she continued her reply.

"She was so shaken after her session with Dr. Gray, the poor thing. Like everyone is, you know? That nice Mr. Clark came to take her away to cheer her up. Dragged her out of her room to go walk around after she had left ours. I'll tell her you were looking for her, when she comes back."

"Nah," Daryl answered too fast, his voice a little too loud for the situation, and he then cleared his throat. "S'okay. I mean: thank you. I'll find'er."

"We can buzz you in," the older woman offered as the archer had begun to walk away from the strangers. "Do you like tea? You can drink some while you wait for her at our place."

Daryl shook his head, his legs practically walking away from his body on their own to go look for Carol. "'S'alright. Thank you. I… I better go."

"OK, Son. Maybe next time. Hope you find her soon!" the woman called after him with a smile; too cheery for someone who had survived the end of the world and who was more on the other side of life than most of them. Not knowing what else to do, he simply gave her a small nod over his shoulder as he walked away.

As soon as he exited the hallway that had taken him to Carol's block, he came to a full stop around the corner of it as he came to the realization that he was not sure where Thomas could have taken Carol to "cheer her up." Knowing her, though, and based on what had happened this morning at her place, it was doubtful that she would agree to be with the man somewhere private, which was probably the reason why they were not in her apartment right now. This also ruled out the possibility of Carol accepting an invitation to going wherever the man hung his hat, but it also limited the options he could pick from as to what his destination should be. He was still not very familiar with the blueprint of this place, so the only public location he could think of was the Mess Hall.

It was a long shot, especially since Thomas probably knew every nook and cranny of this facility like the back of his hand, and Carol would not know their destination was not a public one until it was too late. It was unlikely that the man would choose a truly public place, too, based on what he had learned about him this morning, but he also knew that Carol would call him out on his bullshit the moment it dawned on her that he was trying to pull a fast one on her.

Much to his chagrin, there were just too many unknowns for him to make a choice he felt completely sure about. With no other obvious options and without a map to the underground facility, the Mess Hall had to be the first place to start his search. He could at least ask other people there if they had seen Carol or Thomas. If they had not, he could then ask others the location of common places he could acquaint himself with. That was one flaw about some of the people in this place: they were too trusting of whomever else was brought here. It was as if none of them had ever been outside in the real world for months. Or maybe, it was just part of their healing process: forgetting what it was really like to survive.

Daryl practically jogged over to one of the entrances to the giant cafeteria, the smells of delicious food being made almost making his stomach grumble. He had not eaten anything substantial since yesterday, but to this he was already used to. Having gone days with little to no food while on the road – even before the dead had begun rising – had made him learn to ignore basic needs. There was no need to continue those habits here, however, but he could not make himself eat until he was sure that Carol was OK.

He turned the corner as soon as one of his feet was inside the Mess Hall, his gaze slowly coming up to search for the person he wanted to see, but he then had stop in his tracks when he realized that he was about to run over someone exiting as hurriedly as he was coming in.

"Whoa! Careful!" Rick Grimes said, a tray of food in hand, before he looked up and locked eyes with the hunter. "Daryl?"

Daryl blinked a couple of times, as if this was the first time he had ever seen his brother in his entire life. Once his gaze focused again and his brain caught with reality, his eyes trailed down to the odd-smelling bowl of soup that Rick carried, which made him eye the concoction with a confused look.

"Out of soup in yer pantry already?"

"No," Rick shook his head with discomfort before he side-eyed Daryl. "I guess Carol didn't tell you yet?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the now clean-shaven sheriff. "Tell me what?"

Rick sighed and ran his hand over his chin. "Michonne's pregnant. Two months."

Daryl's eyes opened wide. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. Not the best of times, huh?"

Daryl shrugged. "She a'right? You?"

"Yeah. No. Sorta. The doctors here, they're worried she's malnourished and…" Rick shook his head. "Look, can you come by our place in a couple of days? I've learned some things and… I guess you have, too? We just need to regroup a little. See what we need to do next. With Michonne pregnant… I just can't…"

"Yeah. OK. I'll be there."

"Good. OK," Rick nodded and patted Daryl's right shoulder as he made his way out. "Thanks, man. I need to get back before Michonne eats the couch instead of this chicken noodle soup with… pineapple juice."

Daryl's scrunched up his nose. "Good luck with that. Good thing her sword's gone."

"No shit."

The grumbled response still made it to Daryl's ears and he chuckled, yet he still feeling sorry for what his brother was going to go through. Lori Grimes had been the first experience Daryl had ever had being around an expectant woman for an entire pregnancy, and it had left him scarred for life. He could not imagine what a highly hormonal Michonne would be like.

A baby. Another _baby_ was coming to their family. He knew this would make things a lot more complicated for their escape plans, especially if Michonne's health was truly at risk due to it. No one wanted to lose Michonne the way they had lost Lori. No one wanted to lose even more members of their family. He could not blame Rick for looking as distraught as he had. Daryl did not believe that Rick would be able to subsist that again.

 _Damn. Just… damn!_

Daryl shook his head from side to side, this new piece of information already making him feel even more anxious than he already was. This was yet another thing to work through before they even took the first step to get out of here, if these people were not really who they said they were. This was yet another compelling reason for him and Carol to remain apart for Rick and Michonne's sake while they figured out what the plan was.

He knew it made sense. He knew it was reasonable. He knew he could go through with it, too, being apart from Carol, if it helped Rick keep his sanity and Michonne's pregnancy easier. Nonetheless, that knowledge did not make it easier on his heart when he finally looked up and saw Carol and Thomas exiting the Mess Hall through the opposite exit he had come through.

None of it, nothing at all in the goddamned world, would ever make it easier on him seeing the woman he loved pretending to be wooed by another man.

xxxXXXxxx

When Tommy had asked her if she wanted to see his office, she had expected to be brought to a similar space as Dr. Gray's. However, what Carol had walked into just now was not at all what she had imagined it would be.

For starters, his _office_ was a lot bigger than her entire apartment, and it resembled more a science lab than anything else. There were projected and heavily notated maps on the walls; small-scale models of cities or towns on worktables that she assumed were the locations they had their eyes on for repair; and other equipment that she could not begin to identify without help. It all looked so advanced and foreign to her, especially after living without the full advantages of modern technology for the past few years.

While she was tempted, she did not want to touch anything to not risk breaking it. Inside, though, she wondered if the keycard she had snatched from Annette worked here.

"What's all this?" Carol finally asked, if just so that he would stop staring at her so creepily.

"Your mission," Tommy replied, a proud grin on his face. "Your family has been cleared to go outside and lead the first clean-up attempt."

Carol could not help but to look surprised at his words. "Already? We've only been here, what? Three days? You sure you're ready to let us go outside?"

Tommy's smile only widened at her disbelief. He then closed the distance between them and lowered his voice to an almost whisper.

"I've known you longer than that, Carol. More intimately than any of the people you came here with have."

Carol had to fight the urge to flinch when his face got even closer to hers. "It was a long time ago, Tommy. People change. Things change. The _world_ has changed."

"And yet," he ran his fingers down her cheek, "Some things never really go away."

Carol felt it before she could see it – his lips pressing softly against her unmoving ones. She hesitated for half a second before she pulled away and looked down at her shoes, and simply because she had not thought he would try this shit so soon after what he had done this morning. Evidently, she had been wrong.

"Look," Carol began, "I appreciate how much trust you already have in us. In me. But this…" she pointed at the space between them. "It's just… well…"

"Too fast?"

"Yes. Too much. Too soon."

"I understand."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I do. And I'm a very patient, man."

"That's not what it looked like this morning."

"Well, I didn't know then how much was _too much_."

"That's fair, I guess."

Tommy sighed as he took a step back. "Look, I'm really sorry about this morning. It won't happen again. I promise. That's why I brought you here to show you this. I want you to trust me as much as I trust you."

"That will take time."

"I'm willing to work for it."

"Then, let's just wait to see where that leads us, all right? Let's… let's just have some boundaries for now."

"All right," Tommy nodded and looked away from her for an instant before he extended his hand to her. "You're right. Start over?"

Carol briefly eyed the arm with distrust, but she forced herself to smile and shake hands with the man. "OK. Do over."

As soon as her hand broke free, she took a step away from Tommy and pointed towards the door behind her. "I better go. I heard my friend is pregnant. Michonne. I want to see how she is."

"Oh, that's great news! Let me know if there's anything she might need that we haven't thought about providing yet."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that, and I will. Thanks."

"What we're here for. Have a good day, Carol."

"You too," Carol said with her best fake smile. "Bye."

Without further ado, Carol finally exited the room, and then the door locked behind her.

Thomas Clark remained standing where he was for nearly minute, counting down the seconds before the door behind him opened. He did not have to look back to know who was coming to join him in his office. The man never really tried to respect his space. Or anyone's space, for that matter. Except, maybe Anabelle's.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, Tom," Dr. June said in a tone of voice that Thomas recognized as a skeptical one.

"I do. She may not be their leader, but I bet you anything that she has as much pull as he does. We need her on our side, if we want them to be on board with the plan."

"Whatever you say," Dr. June said dismissively. "I still think it's a waste of resources, but that will be on you."

Thomas bit down his retort. There was no sense in arguing with the man. Whatever he did or did not say, it would only lead to him to lose. Besides, the doctor was here to share information with him. He could swallow down his pride for it… for now.

"Did you find out who might be responsible for the bruises?" Thomas asked, surreptitiously side-eyeing the electronic table in Dr. June's hands.

Dr. June smiled knowingly as he handed Thomas the device. "Oh, yeah. Here's the video surveillance from the hall outside her room."

Thomas grabbed the item and watched the footage of the night before, the unmistakable evidence before him making him inwardly groan.

"When did he leave?"

"The next day… AFTER you left."

"Mmhhh," Thomas pursed his lips, his blood boiling at realizing that he had been played a fool, and he then returned the tablet to Dr. June. "It could be something other than what it seems, but we better tell Annette about it, anyway."

"Already did, Tom," Elias June patted the man's back with condescension as he headed back into his office. "Already did."

 _Waste of resources_ , the phrase echoed in Thomas' head as he clenched his hands.

Maybe the prick was correct.


	6. Chapter 5

**Thank you for favorite/follows:** FrImagination, codedriver, and eieball326.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

True to his word, and exactly two days after seeing Rick at the Mess Hall collecting weird craving food for Michonne, Daryl Dixon was on his way to the Grimes' home… despite how odd that statement sounded to him.

He had spent the last forty-eight hours in complete, self-imposed seclusion; having lacked the will and the need to leave his apartment during this time. His only companions had been the voices of his brother and his father, both thrilled at the fact that he had had no energy to argue against their petty opinions. He had not even eaten that well, either, even though he had a fully-stocked kitchen at his disposal – he just had not felt hungry enough to try to feed himself properly. The four walls and the ceiling of his apartment had been the only scenery he had laid eyes upon for _two_ days. For two motherfucking long days, he had felt more miserable than he had ever been in his entire life; including before The Turn.

As such, he welcomed a reason that gave him the chance to be outside his quarters and to go see his family after not knowing anything about them for this long – something that was unusual in and of itself. Other than going on runs – not so long ago, when those were still a thing – Daryl had not been away from his family this long for no good reason. Even when he had been taken by Negan, he had been brought back to Alexandria a few days later, and he had not left ASZ after it on his own accord. This time, however, it had been different: Carol had asked him to put some space between them, and no one had come asking for his help or company, so he had had no need to leave his new home.

It was almost as if, given that everyone's basic needs were being met without much effort, nobody really thought about him any longer. It was almost as if not one member of his family truly _needed_ him anymore. At least, that was what Merle and his father had been drilling into him every waking moment for the past couple of days – and during his short-lived and troubled dreams, too. He had not wanted to believe it – he had sometimes argued back to the imaginary voices in his head that they were as wrong about that as they were dead. Sadly, no matter how untrue the statement was, deep inside him, hidden in the most locked away part of his heart and soul, this knowledge had still festered and _stung_.

Daryl had known, from the day he and Carol had spoken about the potential of this place, that this was going to happen. He had known that, at some point, if things worked out for them, what had once been clamored as precious and invaluable skills at the end of the world would become obsolete once modern commodities became a thing again. He had envisioned this happening soon enough – he had somewhat made his peace with it, in fact – but that acceptance had been tied to a caveat that he was no longer able to enjoy.

Back then, which was just a few days ago, when he had foreseen this future in which he was no longer the provider for his family, he had gladly accepted the new state of being because the trade seemed to come with having Carol permanently tangled with his life. He had welcomed the opportunity to become freed from his obligations if his newfound spare time was then filled with moments with the woman he loved.

Alas, as it was almost always the case in his life, the deal had been changed at the last minute, for reasons beyond his control, and not in his favor. He was now finding himself without any real responsibility, no true purpose, and no time with Carol. This was not what he had hoped, expected, or signed-up for. This was, by no means, the even trade he had looked forward to being a part of.

This was, all things being equal, the worse version of this trade; short of being dead or bitten, of course. In moments of frustration during the past couple of days, the only solution that Daryl had seen to this new shitty deal was to leave Arcadia with his family and never look back. The only way that he could see himself once again becoming as crucial to the survival of his people as he had been just weeks ago was going back out there, back to the unknown – returning to the dangers of Walkers, famine and the risk of dying of a cold.

Merle had been all for packing up their shit and getting out of Dodge. His father had been indifferent, claiming Daryl would fuck up either way. Daryl had been partially on board with the plan until depression had taken a back seat to logic and common sense.

If Michonne's pregnancy was as risky as Rick had implied it was, abandoning ship to rejoin a reality where Daryl was an integral part of his family's survival was no longer a choice – or at least nothing but a selfish one. The archer wanted to feel needed and useful again, but he wanted more to know that Michonne would be properly cared for while they were here – despite the personal cost to his sanity. Before The Turn, family had already been important to Daryl (or at least his brother had been). After much deliberation and soul-searching in the last 48-hours, and as far as he could tell, family would continue to be precious to him; even after the world put itself back to the way it used to be and they kicked him to the curb.

 _No_ , Daryl shook his head, realizing that he was almost at his destination. _They wouldn't do that to me._ _Gotta stop thinking like that._

The hunter then lifted his gaze from the floor when he stood at the entrance of the families block and immediately buzzed for Rick's apartment. The former sheriff's deputy did not take long to respond to the call, which incited Daryl to increase his pace towards the home, anxious to see his family again to rid himself of the toxic thoughts that plagued him in his solitude. By the time Daryl was just steps away from arriving to the Grimes' home, Rick was already standing by the wide open front door, welcoming his brother with a small smile.

"You hungry?" Rick asked as he stepped aside to let Daryl inside the apartment and then closed the door behind him. He had not been sure when Daryl would make his appearance today, but he had certainly not expected it to be before 8AM. It was a pleasant surprise, however; as much as it was also a shame that they had all been split up.

"We're making waffles for breakfast," the former lawman added when Daryl did not immediately respond.

Daryl scoffed. "Forgot that's a thing."

"Waffles or the concept of breakfast?"

Daryl shrugged and barely hinted at a smirk. "Both?"

Rick chuckled and patted Daryl on the shoulder on his way back to the kitchen, prompting the archer to follow along. Both men stood on opposite sides of the counter, the waffle maker in between them, in what could be labeled as the most domestic, pre-Turn-like morning routine for them in a long-ass time.

"Carl has been wanting waffles for days," Rick began, as if his current actions required justification. "It's like he's trying to catch up with the childhood he was forced to miss while we were out there. All at once. I can't tell if he's a teenager or a kid."

"'s a good thing, right? That he can be either?"

"Yeah," Rick nodded, his gaze briefly making him seem as if he were drifting back in time with his words. "It is. It's almost like… back then… at the prison, after Lori…"

Rick shook his head when he could not find it in himself to finish his statement. He knew that he did not have to, either. He knew that Daryl would still understand.

"Y'all been a'right? Little Asskicker, 'Chonne?"

Rick thanked Daryl for the slight change of subject with a smile.

"It's been good. Judith got some of her vaccines, and more are already scheduled. Carl got some boosters, too. The doctors gave them vitamins to take every day to catch up. Michonne was given prenatal vitamins and some shots to give her body a better chance to… the baby. Her age… our life out there…"

A moment of silence filled the room as Rick gathered his thoughts while he took out yet another perfectly cooked waffle from the maker and poured more batter into it with the skill of someone who knew what they were doing. The movement revealed to Daryl that there was a stack of already-made waffles just a few feet away from him, making him wonder how long Rick had been up making breakfast for his kids. His brother looked like he had been up a while, perhaps due to not sleeping well, and Daryl could not blame him. They were essentially trapped with and at the mercy of strangers in a place that could, at any moment, go from being rainbows and butterflies to becoming the fifth level of Hell.

Daryl inwardly grimaced at the thought. Maybe, instead of pouting and brooding for two days, he should have come sooner to Rick's aid. Yes, he had had it rough due not being able to spend time with Carol as he liked, and for being separated from other members of his family, but Rick had a lot more responsibilities than any of them did. Not only did Rick have the burden of making the final decision for a bunch of people that followed his lead, but he also had a growing family to worry about. Carl could take care of himself, as could Michonne; but Carl would also not hesitate to die protecting his sister, and Michonne was currently well on her way to becoming very vulnerable. Without a doubt, this was enough of a reason for Rick to look as if he were in a constant state of anxiety and heightened alertness, both of which were healthy neither for the body nor the mind.

Maybe someone should move in here with them – another capable adult, for sure. Or maybe Daryl should offer taking on Carl or something. Or maybe Carol should move in here to help Michonne.

 _Maybe…_

"Are those waffles I smell?"

Despite the conflicting and troublesome thoughts swirling in Daryl's mind, the enthusiastic-sounding voice of the youngster joining them after his morning routine of a shower and tending to his sister was music to his ears. Seeing a smiling Judith perched above Carl's left arm was a sight for sore eyes.

"Only this one time," Rick warned his approaching son, "You heard the dentist."

"Yeah, yeah," Carl rolled his eye as he walked to stand to Daryl's right. He acknowledged his welcomed presence with a smile and a nod, while keeping to himself how amazed he was to see his _uncle_ sparkling clean, his beard trimmed, and his hair out of his face and mostly tamed. It was not as if Carl had anything against the way Daryl seemed to always find himself covered in dirt and grime, but it was a testament to the possibilities of this place that even their cautious archer was trying to make it work by going with the flow. He knew that he would never see Daryl trying to socialize with others for the sake of fitting in, and he would never dream of asking him to do that, but Carl felt happy for what appeared to be Daryl making the effort to assimilate while allowing himself to relax. Daryl had never been able to quite do so while in Alexandria; especially not at the very start of their life there. Then, when he had finally started to make the attempt to let his guard down a bit, the Arcadians had rained on their parade in the blink of an eye. Carl had been afraid that this unexpected change would become the straw that broke the camel's back and kept Daryl from basking in what he had earned. Nevertheless, it seemed like the resilient archer was yet again powering through the unforeseen.

In Carl's mind, Daryl had broken his back many times over providing for and protecting all of them: going without eating so that others would have an extra spoonful in their bellies; making sure his little sister survived after his mother had died; taking over leadership responsibilities when his father had lost the way for a while; offering Joe and his people his life to spare theirs, along with many other countless instances in which Daryl had not hesitated to put everyone's needs and wants before his. In Carl's humble opinion, if anyone deserved a break and a chance at happiness, it was Daryl Dixon, no doubt. Arcadia could be _that_ final happy place they had been searching for; or so he hoped.

Carl Grimes was no fool, though. He was still as vigilant as he was sure everyone else was, but damn it all if he was not going to take advantage of the good things offered here while he had the chance. He had not completely bought into the perfect fairytale that Arcadia seemed to be despite how Alexandria had once also been viewed as a _too-good-to-be-true_ opportunity but had ended up being the real deal. However, he also had nothing against being _stuck_ here for now. Thus far, the people in charge had been as supportive as they could have been, and they were yet to give Carl a valid reason to distrust them for something other than being strangers. They had provided food, shelter, and healthcare. They had not limited their freedom other than not being allowed outside the compound for now, which was understandable. Nobody had really been harmed since the snatching, and they were yet to feel endangered by anything they were expected to contribute in exchange for all they now had. It was almost as good as what that lady Georgie – wherever she was now – had offered them for trading odd supplies and some of the fruit of their labor with her group shortly before the end of the war.

Not everyone could be bad in this world: Carl Grimes still believed this wholeheartedly. There was just no way there were no more good people out there. Perhaps, these Arcadians were prime specimens of the _good folks_ his mother had always spoken to him about when growing up. Maybe, after years of ups and downs, they had all finally arrived to where they needed to be.

Whatever the outcome ended up being, no one really knew how long the good part of this was going to last. While it did, though, Carl hoped that everyone took full advantage of it. Most especially, the archer standing before him.

After Daryl replied to his _Good Morning_ in his own way – with a barely noticeable nod, Carl placed Judith on the counter to rest his arms. Not a second after, he lightly slapped her hand away when she tried to reach for the hot waffle maker near them. The child instantly pouted with a tilt of her head that reminded Carl of his father, her eyes silently asking how dared he keep her from what she had wanted to do. A second later, with even more determination, she tried the move towards it again. This time, however, it was Daryl grunting a _no_ that stopped her in her tracks. The child pulled her hand back, stared at the gruff man that had spat the command without even looking at her, and she then extended her arms towards him with a small whimper.

"Dyl?" the little blonde said, hoping her uncle was not that mad at her for not listening to her brother in the first place.

Without hesitation, and knowing that the archer would oblige, Carl helped his sister reach Daryl. As soon as she was in his arms, she laid her head against his left shoulder, bunched up his shirt with one of her fists, and closed her eyes, as if quietly apologizing to the man for misbehaving. Daryl gently patted her back and arm a few times; letting her know that she was not really in trouble with him. She probably would never be. _Ever._

"Can you believe I have homework?" Carl suddenly said to Daryl, not wanting the silence to extend for too long and feeling eager to bring his family into a sense of normalcy. "I even got detention yesterday!"

"You, what?" Rick asked before he even had a chance to process the retort. It was automatic and left over from their life before the world had gone to shit. It was also something normal that he had given up on ever hearing from his child.

"Wadja do?" Daryl asked, curious as to what the boy had done to earn such a standard punishment in a non-standard world.

Carl shrugged. "I was passing notes in class. To Enid."

"In the middle of a four-hour school day? It couldn't wait?"

"It was about the teacher," Carl answered his father. "It was funny, and I would've forgotten about it later."

"Hold up," Rick looked his son in the eye. "Are you telling me the teacher caught you passing notes about her in her class?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds, Dad. But now that I remember, the teacher did say that she wanted to talk to you next week."

Rick shook his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that, Daryl? I'm gonna be called to a parent-teacher conference while Walkers are still around."

"At least he made bail," Daryl replied, earning him a sincere laugh from Carl and a roll of the eyes from Rick.

"Anyway," Carl continued, "She said for you to just show up whenever. And she gave me extra homework as punishment because, apparently detention wasn't enough."

"And you'll get extra chores here, too," Rick said.

"Why am I not surprised?" Carl groaned.

"Was Enid in trouble, too?" Rick asked.

"Same as me."

"I'll go talk to Maggie, then. Find something you both can do that will fit the crime."

"Good luck, Dad. There isn't much that can be done here."

"Wash dishes," Daryl offered.

"There's a dishwasher," Carl argued.

"Do some laundry," Daryl added.

"There's a laundromat, and they have Wi-Fi there," Carl said smugly.

"Could help out in the Mess Hall," Daryl shrugged. "Take out the trash."

"I like that idea," Rick mused aloud. "Take out the trash for everyone in this block. Every day, for a week. And then do everyone's laundry. And all the dishes."

"Dad, no. And Daryl, please stop helping."

"Plenty of kids at the daycare," Rick held back a smile, for an instant forgetting the reason Daryl was here and finding very appealing the chance to tease his son. "Could help the people there with changing diapers."

"Dad, just stop. Please."

"Wipe snot off them faces," Daryl suggested.

"Eww! I do enough of that already."

"Scrub dried baby vomit from the furniture," Rick pointed out.

"Seriously?"

"Help the teacher after class," Daryl added.

"With what?"

"Dunno. Dust chalk off erasers or some shit."

"Good try, but there are no chalkboards here. Only electronic whiteboards. They don't even have real markers. It's all a projection from a computer screen."

"'M sure teach'd figure somethin' out."

"Teach?" Carl asked.

"Teacher," Rick clarified for the youngster that had probably never heard that expression in his short academic life.

"Teach," Carl scoffed to cover up how stupid he felt at not catching such an obvious reference. "Is that, like, an old school way of saying teacher?"

"Nah. 'S an old school way of sayin': stop passing damn notes in class!"

Carl opened his mouth, ready to inject a joking yet sarcastic reply into the well-meant banter, but he then smiled instead when an even better idea crossed his mind. Two could play at this game that the hunter thought he was beating the young adult at, especially when anyone who had been around the archer as long as he had, knew the easiest and fastest way to make Daryl Dixon lose his cool. And his mind.

"Haven't seen Carol in a while, huh?" Carl suddenly asked as he crossed his arms over his chest in the most arrogant way the older two men in the room had ever seen him before.

If Daryl had been having his breakfast already, he would have choked on it.

"What the hell does that hafta to do with anything?"

"Well, you know? You get grumpy when you don't see or talk to her for a day or so. I guess you're picking on me because you can't pick on her?"

"I, what?"

"Carl," the boy's father warned.

"What? It's true. Even you've said it before, Dad. Remember? When we were back at the prison? That one day that Daryl was in a really bad mood and you sent him and Carol on a run alone together so he could chill? And you were right: Daryl came back all happy and relaxed. Makes you wonder what happened when they were out there… _alone_ …"

Rick swallowed hard. This twist, he had not seen coming. He was not sure what to say to that, so he opted to just looking left and right, trying his best to avoid Daryl's gaze.

For his part, Daryl could only blink rapidly as he stared back and forth between father and son. Carl's smug expression was becoming a lot more irritating to him by Rick's look of deer-caught-in-the-headlights. Nevertheless, and despite his best efforts to think on the spot – even after a few long seconds passed – Daryl had nothing to refute Carl's claims. Nonetheless, words still forced themselves to come out, even if they made no sense in his mind.

"I don't… what the… We haven't… we didn't want to…" Daryl faltered. "What would I… _What_?"

"We? Like, you and Carol _we_?" Carl's smile widened at hearing Daryl stumble over his words – it was the sound of absolute success to him. Not only had he rendered the tracker speechless, he had also somewhat confirmed the theory he had tried to convince Enid of, days ago: Carol and Daryl were finally together now – _really_ together, even if they had not announced it to anyone yet. Not that anyone expected they would do so, anyway, but they were obviously as official as they would ever let others know. Carl had seen it from afar as it had happened, when Daryl had marched with purpose to his porch to see Carol waiting for him to come back from a hunt, her few belongings in hand. He had almost cheered for them then and there, elated that the twosome had finally gotten over whatever had kept them from acting on the feelings that were obvious to everyone else, but then the Arcadians had showed up.

By the looks of it, however, their forced captivity had only made the two grow closer; as Carl had hoped it would be the case. It appeared that Enid owed Carl dinner _and_ a back rub.

At a loss at what to say to that, berating himself internally for his slipup, Daryl cleared his throat instead.

"Don't ya have some damn homework to do or somethin'?"

"I do," Carl said, understanding that this was as close to an acceptance of defeat that he was going to get from the gruff man. "Wanna help me with it?"

"I ain't never did my homework."

"Then how did you pass your classes?"

"Dunno," Daryl said even though he had long ago figured that it had probably been due to pity from the teachers that had seen nothing but a no-good child that would never amount to anything in his entire life _._ There was also a good chance that they had perhaps passed him along so that they did not have to deal with him for another year. Who would have wanted to have to put up with the kid that barely showered and had no supplies for school, two years in a row?

Not even his mother had wanted to look after him. She had not even bothered to stop smoking when she had been pregnant with him. If his own flesh and blood had not given a rat's ass about him, why would total strangers care for him, let alone strangers that got paid to teach other people's bratty kids? The short answer was that they simply would not. Strangers had never cared about him.

 _But these strangers did_ , a resolute voice in his mind reminded him, and the thought made him pause.

The statement was strong and truthful enough to somewhat bring him back to reality and make him realize that he had yet again allowed himself to be preoccupied and greatly affected by an innocent conversation. The simple retort in his head brought to the forefront the fact that he was yet again falling prey to the negative voices that had brought him down for the past two days – the ones he had run off from when he had left his apartment this morning. He was once more doing something he had just told himself he would avoid.

Maybe Carl was on to something, as teasing as his observation had been, saying that he needed to see Carol – to see his family, so that he would not let himself sink into despair. Maybe staying away completely was not the best course of action here; at least not for him. Maybe he should have worked out with Carol what _keeping some distance between them_ looked like instead of putting words in her mouth and storming out of her place. He knew that she had not meant to cut all ties with any of them, but his stubborn ass had walked away before she had said her piece. She would never purposefully do anything that would pain him like this. He had known that from the start. He just had to get his head out of his ass long enough to let the negative thoughts fall off his mind to give way for rational thoughts to seep in.

As the mental fog began clearing again, Daryl's eyes slowly moved from Carl to Judith, and then finally to Rick; a sense of acceptance washing over him like a warm hug as he realized how every single one of them looked at him with deep concern.

He was going to be OK. They were all going to be OK. It was all going to be OK.

"So, you want some waffles, Daryl?"

It took him a moment to process Rick's question, but in the end, he gave his brother a small smile and a nod.

xxxXXXxxx

The teenager in the room groaned for the tenth time in a row at his English homework while Daryl waited for Rick to wrap up his fatherly duties to start the conversation he had come here to have with him. Rick had been rather vague about the reason for the visit, but it surely involved talking about what their options were while being underground against their will.

"Why do I have to learn this?" Carl continued his tirade. "The world isn't what it used to be!"

"But it might be again, if we do things right," Rick contended as he put his daughter to sleep on the couch. After a heavy breakfast of waffles, she had started to doze off. She was at a phase, however, where she hated sleeping alone. She had gone as far as trying to sleep on the floor of whatever room any of them were in, if that was what it took to not fall asleep by her lonesome. It was a good thing they did not own a dog, because Rick Grimes had no doubt that he would have found his daughter crashing with it at its house, if they did.

"But it's not gonna be the way it was for a long time. Shouldn't we be learning more everyday life-related skills? Like, I don't know, hunting? Daryl should be teaching us that. And tracking, too. Carol should be teaching kids how to defend themselves from Walkers and how to make good food from nothing. I mean, how is knowing the difference between an adverb and adjective going to help us get back on our feet once we are back out there?"

"The idea is that we won't be stuck in this much longer, Carl," his father reasoned. "How are you going to document for future generations how to thrive after this if you can't tell the difference between an adverb and an adjective?"

"Doesn't matter much knowing which is which if you don't know how to stay alive long enough to have a chance to use them," Carl argued.

"You still have to do your homework, Carl," Rick said.

"Do _you_ know what the difference is Dad? Because I can't find the definitions anywhere in my notes."

"That's probably because you were talking in class instead of paying attention, and you most likely missed it. And it's not my homework. It's yours. Get back to it."

Carl raised a single eyebrow. "So, you _don't_ know it either, huh?"

"I don't _recall_."

"That's code for: you don't know."

"That's not what I said."

"That's what you meant."

"Carl…"

"It's stupid, Dad."

"I'm serious, Carl."

"Me, too! This is just fu–"

"Jesus!" Daryl finally snapped, tired of hearing the Grimes argue over something so trivial and simple. "Adjective is the word that tells ya what the noun is like. Adverb does the same thing with the verb and other parts of the sentence, but never the noun. It ain't that hard!"

Both men instantly stopped arguing and their heads whipped towards him so fast, he swore he heard their necks crack.

Daryl growled and rolled his eyes, feeling a tad insulted by the dubious looks they were sending his way. "Why are y'all lookin' at me like that? I finished high school."

"But you said you never did your homework."

"Didn't say I never paid attention."

"True," Carl tapped his lips with the eraser side of his pencil a few times before speaking again. "So, uhm, what did you say the difference was?"

Daryl opened his mouth to tell the kid to look it up, but the sound of knocking on the door made him stop. Rick immediately unlocked the front door for a guest the archer was not aware was coming and, just like that, Carol was standing at the door, looking as surprised as he felt to see her there.

"How did you get into the block? Was the entrance unlocked?" Rick asked as he waved her inside and closed the front door behind her.

"Tommy let me in. We had breakfast together this morning."

"Tommy?" Carl's eyebrows rose almost out of his forehead. "Who the hell is Tommy?"

 _And what about Daryl?_ Carl also wanted to ask, suddenly wondering if he had been wrong in his assumption that Carol and Daryl were a couple, and fearing that he had just spent a few minutes pouring salt on an open wound rather than good-naturedly teasing the tracker. He now could not help but notice how Daryl's entire demeanor had changed the moment Carol had walked inside – and not in a good way, but he was smart enough to ask his father about it later. Much later. When they were alone. At least 400 feet away from the duo.

The rising tension that suddenly befell the archer was not lost to Rick either, and it prompted Carl to look for a way out of whatever was about to start. He might have been joking with Daryl earlier about him needing his Carol fix, but he was not dumb enough to be around the hunter if Carol was the reason he got into one of his moods. This just meant that nothing and no one would be able to get him out of his funk until he and Carol patched things up; however long that took.

"Hi, Carol," Carl said after quickly gathering his things from the table before stopping in front of who he considered one of his mothers. He wanted to at least spend five seconds with the woman before he made himself scarce.

"Hi, Carl," Carol smiled at him and then welcomed the hug he gave her.

"Are you gonna stay long? Judy has been asking for you."

Carol looked past Carl's left shoulder and towards the couch to see the little blonde sound asleep.

"Maybe," Carol replied. "Unless your dad sends me on a mission after this."

"No mission yet," Rick said. "Just gonna talk."

"Then maybe you can stay for lunch?" Carl asked, eager to spend time with the rest of his family… if the tension between Daryl and Carol did not end up blowing up in their faces.

"Maybe," Carol repeated, trying her best to avoid staring at Daryl again just yet.

"Well, I gotta go do my homework," Carl said as he walked over to where his sister lay. He carefully picked up the child in one arm, having enough experience in the matter to not wake up the little girl in the process, to take her with him to his room. "Don't leave without saying goodbye, OK?"

"I won't. But… homework?" Carol frowned.

"Yeah, can you believe it?"

"I really don't," Carol shook her head. "Unless the lessons are coming from _The Key to the Future_ , I don't see the point."

"Carol, please don't encourage him," Rick lamented.

"Sorry," she said with a grimace and then waved at Carl as he disappeared from the room. "So, what do you need me here for? Got news?"

"A lot yes. Take a seat?" Rick pointed towards the living room, where Daryl already sat, cross-legged and cross-armed, his eyes narrowed at her, and his mouth sealed so tightly that he had not bothered to greet her. It was not so much that he was mad at her – he was just suddenly annoyed at the fact that she had spent the morning with Tommy while he had been pouting in his room, hardly feeling any hunger at all until Rick had force-fed him waffles.

"Is Michonne joining us? How is she?" Carol asked as she chose to sit on one of the single-person couches to avoid the seething tracker sitting to her left on the loveseat. Rick took the second single-person couch in the room, the coffee table in between them, which was a mirror image of the one Carol was sitting on, and he then cleared his throat.

"She didn't sleep well last night. This pregnancy is really kicking her butt."

"But are she and the baby healthy? She's just tired, I hope?"

Rick shook his head. "Let's say it could be worse. They have her on all these vitamins and they want to check on her every week. They told us not to worry yet – that it's a good thing that we're here and that they can help us but… I don't know. I… neither of us know enough to know if they're telling us the truth. But declining the help is stupid, too."

"Why would they lie?" Daryl offered with a shrug, speaking directly at Rick. "I mean, I don't know them, and I ain't like most of them, but they seem to care 'bout kids a lot."

"They are the future," Carol interjected, also keeping her eyes towards Rick. "Tommy keeps saying everything we do is for the kids. That they are the way we survive. And he's not wrong. If we can't keep our kids alive, then what are we doing this for?"

"'Sides," Daryl began, "It ain't like we can just up and leave. Not yet, anyhow. We don't know enough about this here place and what these people can do if we piss'em off. We've got no guns and no ammo, neither. And they ain't gonna let us carry just cuz. We're fucking stuck here 'til we know more."

"Which is why I called for this meeting, just the three of us," Rick began. "For us to exchange information. See what we can do if we can't leave right away. I didn't want to stay, at first. I still don't want to stay without knowing the full picture or at least have some solid ears on the ground. I can't trust them. _We_ can't trust them. Not yet. But with Michonne and the baby… I can't risk it. I just can't risk it. We gotta put up with it until we know more."

"We'll be allowed outside soon," Carol said as she pulled out a piece of paper with a quickly-drawn map on it. "Tommy took me to his office a couple of days ago. He showed me what the plan is. This is all I could remember of what I saw there. They want us to take a town. Kill all the Walkers in there so that people can move out of here and live there. Restore the place. I think it's our first test. I think they want to see what we can really do…"

"And how much they oughta keep an eye on us," Daryl said as he stared at Carol's notes on the paper before them.

Rick did not look surprised by this revelation, however. "What else did he say?"

"Just that: that we were cleared for this first clean-up attempt. But he didn't say who was going."

"I know who," Rick replied, surprising both Carol and Daryl. "Dr. Gray told me last night during my weekly visit with him. He said it was best if _my people_ heard it from me."

"So?" Carol straightened her back at hearing the news, feeling slightly irked and taken aback that Dr. Gray had not confided in her. "Who's going?"

"You two, me, Morgan, Ezekiel, Jerry, Tara, Cyndie, Aaron and Jesus."

"That's it?" Daryl frowned.

"Yup. Kids are not allowed outside for these missions. Carl doesn't know yet, but I know how that's gonna go. Neither are women who are pregnant, trying to get pregnant, or those with small children that are still nursing."

"Like Maggie," Carol said.

"Like Maggie," Rick echoed.

"Why was that Oceanside girl included with us?"

"Probably because she lives with Tara," Carol shrugged. "Or maybe because Oceanside knows us and everyone else left from their group doesn't qualify because of the kids. Might as well throw the only able-body of Oceanside with us."

"Wait. What 'bout Eugene?"

"He has been selected for a different task," Rick replied. "Something about his abilities being better suited for planning than execution."

"Psh," Daryl scoffed.

"That might be a good thing," Carol said as she waved the paper in Rick's direction for him to keep. "He'll probably be around the people that make the decisions. Maybe he can earn their trust and he can tell us what they want to do before they even tell us."

"Eugene has never been good at recon," Daryl said before pointing to Carol. "That's yer thing."

"Then I'll work with him so that it's his thing too," Carol replied. "The more ears we have out there while they still somewhat trust us, the better."

Rick nodded. "I agree. Do that: talk to Eugene. What else can you tell us about this Tommy guy?"

Carol shifted in her seat and spared Daryl a glance before replying. "We used to date. In high school."

Rick's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? Before Ed?"

"Yes. But Tommy's harmless."

Daryl could not contain his scoff.

" _Mostly_ harmless," Carol added, no doubt in her mind that Daryl's sneer was due to the incident in her apartment, a few days ago.

"Mostly?" Rick asked in a low tone, his right hand moving to where his Colt would have been.

"It's the end of the world, Rick," Carol began, her voice clipped, clearly not wanting to go into details that were superfluous now. "He's just trying to find someone with whom to spend the rest of his life in what is left of the world. Desperately."

"Or forcibly," Daryl muttered.

"Daryl," Carol snapped at him between gritted teeth. "He learned his lesson. I _handled_ it."

"Handled what, exactly?" Rick asked. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing that is relevant anymore," Carol replied.

When Daryl did not instantly add anything else to the conversation and instead opted to locking eyes with an equally stubborn-looking Carol, Rick took a moment to stare back and forth at the two individuals that refused to give him the straight answers he needed. It was evident by their replies that, whatever they were keeping to themselves, had not been a small issue. However, it was also clear as day to the man that neither of them would give in an inch without a fight.

Rick straightened his back, cleared his throat, and tilted his head to the side. "Carol, did he… did he do something to you?"

"No," her eyes never lost contact with Daryl's. "He didn't."

Rick inwardly groaned at Carol's hardheadedness and then noticed Daryl's eyes narrow at the woman. That was as close as Rick was going to get out of Daryl that he disagreed with her.

"Carol," Rick insisted, his voice now soft and dripping with concern. "Did he _hurt_ you? Or _try_ to hurt you? If these people…"

Rick's voice trailed as he shook his head and exhaled at the horrible possibilities his mind concocted for him. They had faced many enemies in the past, but they had always done so in an almost-neutral turf: outside, surrounded by the undead that could have been used for or against either side. Out there, groups fighting for survival had had the same confines: scarce food and water, limited number of guns, practically non-existent ammo, and unusable gasoline. In here, their options for success were restricted. Their chances of success were also much lower than they would have been, had they been out in the world.

The thought of being caught off-guard made him restless – it reminded him of that fateful night at the clearing. The possibility of that happening again was just too much for Rick Grimes. He knew that both Carol and Daryl had the same concerns as he did. He just needed to make them understand that he felt the same – that there was no shame in admitting fear or in talking about the smallest of issues that arose while in here. He needed to make it clear to them that it was in everyone's best interest to take any perceived attack on them as a big, fat red flag; no matter how insignificant it had been for them to deal with.

The Sherriff's eyes briefly looked towards the closed door behind which an exhausted Michonne rested after a fitful night – his main motivation for his current over-the-top paranoia and for being extra careful with his steps. He then locked eyes with Carol again; his eyes pleading her for the truth.

"If these people are dangerous, I need to know that. _We_ need to know that."

Carol gulped, dreading doing what she knew she had to do. She had not missed how the wheels in Rick's head had been rapidly turning while he had watched the door to the master bedroom, no doubt scared for Michonne's life if they had to leave here before she had the baby. She knew that he was thinking the worst – fearing the worst – and she could not allow him to worry over what was truly nothing. She had not wanted to talk about Tommy in front of Daryl; at least, not without speaking with Daryl in private first. However, it was clear now that the opportunity to do just that was shot. Rick needed answers, and she wanted Rick to not have imaginary threats looming in his mind.

"He's just trying to get into my pants again," Carol replied in an even tone, if just so that Daryl could hear in her voice that she was neither interested nor amused by Tommy's advances.

Rick's head recoiled. From all the things he had expected to hear, this was not one that had even made the list. The situation was, as Carol had said, not harmful at all, but it still bothered him that there was a chance that someone was trying to woo a member of his family, when they were not interested, regardless of how well Carol could handle herself.

Then again, maybe Tommy's approach was not as harmless as Carol was making it sound. Not so at all, if Rick took into consideration Daryl's reaction to it.

 _Forcibly_ , that was what Daryl had said.

The thought of Carol putting herself in such a situation for the sake of her family did not sit well with Rick Grimes. It did not matter to him how much they could get out of it.

Rick leaned forward in his seat, his back almost horizontal, so that his voice did not carry over beyond the area where the three of them were.

"Did he try to force himself on you?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "No, Rick! For fuck's sake. He just thought we could continue where we left off before Ed, all right? I made sure that he knows that is not the case… but also that it can happen, if he's nice. He has information we need. I can get that."

"Are you sure? Are you _sure_ that won't put you in a situation you don't want? Make you do things with him that you don't really want? I just want–"

Whatever Rick was going to say died on his lips when a loud groan was heard coming from his and Michonne's room. Not a second later, a door slam followed the groaning, and then painful-sounding retching ensued. Rick flinched but was up on his feet in a flash, hardly leaving any time to excuse himself as he rushed towards the master bedroom to help Michonne.

Daryl and Carol watched their leader disappear behind the door, and they then informed a curiously peeking Carl that Rick was taking care of Michonne. The boy seemed to readily accept the answer and quickly returned to his room to continue his homework and watching over his sister, which left them with a long and unusually awkward silence between them – one that Daryl eventually gathered enough courage to dissolve when he noticed that she was wearing a scarf around her neck.

Memories of that night flooded his brain, making his current out-of-place jealousy take a temporary backseat to his concern for her and what she was willing to do _for_ them, regardless of what it did _to_ her. Rick was right to be worried about Carol. Yet, it was up to him to make sure that the woman did not go to the extreme to do her job.

There were too many things that he should say to her right now. There were then that many more things that he _wanted_ to say to her, this very moment. However, there was only one that fought hard enough to be the single one that came out of his mouth.

"How's them bruises?"

Carol fought the instinct to place her hand on her neck as she spoke. "Fading. Don't even feel them there."

He nodded a couple of times, but he said nothing else, keeping to himself the fact that he did not believe her. Bruises like the ones he had left on her did not go away in days, and the pain they caused when the muscles were used could be great enough to slow down one's eating or swallowing. He knew that, first hand – courtesy of Will Dixon.

She was lying to him about how much it really hurt her – without batting an eye, at that – even though they both knew that she was pretending. She was actively misleading him – keeping the truth from him; risking tainting the trust he had in her, and it disappointed him. _Greatly_.

This was not to say, however, that he would no longer trust her because of it, because he would; nothing would ever change that for him. He would believe any of her words in a heartbeat: anytime, anywhere, and at any place. He would follow her with his eyes closed, with only her voice as his guide and nothing else. If she told him right now that someone needed to die, he would not hesitate to be the one to put an arrow between the asshole's eyes and ask questions later.

Or maybe never.

That was how much he trusted her.

Yet, he also knew that she would lie to his face if it would spare him pain. He knew she so would – as he also knew that she would understand him for playing pretend with her for now – because he had already done that before for her once in the past. If this was what she wanted to do right now, he would play along. If Rick continued his line of iniquity when he came back, he would simply shrug.

She was not entirely wrong: Tommy did not appear to be dangerous. He was just horny as fuck and that was all. And if he did try to do something to Carol, Daryl knew that the man would regret it twice: once when Carol put him in his place, and a second time when Daryl had his turn with him.

Seeing murderous thoughts cross his eyes, and hoping to clear the air between them, at least for now, Carol prepared herself to speak up. She had known that Daryl finding out about her having breakfast with Tommy this morning would hurt him. She had planned on telling him after they spoke about their unfinished debate in her kitchen, but thanks to Rick not telling her that Daryl would be here for this meeting, she had not gotten the chance to ease the archer into the news.

It was too late to do anything about it now other than being the one to start a decent chat between them, even if he had been the one to storm out. She knew why he had left her standing there and why he had not sought her out since then. She knew that the realization that they had to keep up with appearances and pretend not to care for one another as deeply as they did, had hurt him as much as it had hurt her. Daryl was not one to pretend being something he was not. And she knew for a fact that he also hated it when she resorted to that.

Nonetheless, it was also true that she loved him as much as she knew he loved her, even if neither of them had said the words yet. That bond would have to be the anchor that carried them through the pretending. She refused to let anything, or anyone, step all over what she knew they both cherished so much. If she had to be the one to bring him back on board; be the one to ease his fears and share her own, even if he was an adult and could come to the same conclusions himself, she would gladly do so. Right _now_.

Feeling that she finally had enough resolve in her, Carol took a deep breath and shifted her body so that she faced Daryl's across the living room. He did not look up to face her, but he noticed from the corner of his eye that she was waiting for his attention. A fleeting look towards her let her know that he was willing and ready to listen to whatever it was that she had to say.

What she ended up saying, however, was not at all what he had expected it to be.

"I've missed you. How come you haven't gone to see me? I mean, I know I said we should keep our distance but… I thought you'd stop at least once, even if it wasn't for long. Say: _hi_."

Daryl nibbled his bottom lip, knowing she was still unaware of the fact that he _had_ gone looking for her. "How come you haven't come to see me? Know where I live."

"That's a fair point, Daryl, but–"

"'Sides," Daryl scrapped his jeans at the knee with his right thumbnail, "Maybe your friend might show up without announcing himself again. Ask ya to have breakfast with him. Shouldn't risk it, right?"

Carol sighed. "He won't. I made it clear that he couldn't be doing that without my permission. You were there, remember? And I reminded him again after that. He showed up this morning because I agreed that he could."

"When you was hanging with him in the Mess Hall that day? Is that when he asked for permission? Think that will work every time? Cuz he don't seem like the guy that can take _no_ for an answer."

Carol was taken aback. "You saw us that afternoon?"

Daryl nodded twice; the opportunity to open-up to her presenting itself.

"Was looking for ya. Went to yer place. Thought your thing with the shrink was done. Buzzed your building like a fucking idiot a few times. Old lady told me you'd left with Tommy."

"Oh."

Daryl swallowed hard, the jealousy slow creeping back. "Were ya gonna tell me that? That you were with him?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Ya didn't tell me 'bout Tobin."

"That didn't mean anything. It was just pretend. I didn't feel anything deep for Tobin."

"But you do for this prick?"

"Daryl, you know I don't. You…" Carol gulped as she dared to lay a hand on his – the same hand that he had been shaking against his right knee – and it caused it to stop. "You know that what I'm doing with Tommy is fake. You know I'm just doing it to get things out of him. Nothing more."

"I know," he sighed after a long pause before he stared at her eyes. "And I'm sorry. About that day."

Carol gave him an honest smile that left him feeling lightheaded, just seconds before she stood up from the couch and joined him on the loveseat. He refused to break eye contact with her, so he simply followed her baby blues with his own darker blue ones.

"I'm mad about this, too. I thought… when you asked me to meet you at your house in Alexandria, I thought that was it. I was so happy to see you come home. I just wanted to know – to feel, that it was finally happening. That you and I could…"

Daryl slowly ran his thumb against hers when he noticed her pause was due to her trembling lips. "Me too."

Carol nodded. "I know it's not fair. To you. To me. To us? I know that, and I hate it, but that's what it is. That's what it has to be, Daryl. And it was already hard for me to ask you that, and when you left me, I–"

"I's a dumb fuck," he whispered to her.

His free hand then moved on its own accord and landed on her right cheek. His left thumb mimicked against her face the same motion that his right one was doing to her hand on his knee.

"I'm sorry. Should've stayed with you. Talked. I fucked up. Knew it the moment I left. Would've come back to ya but I thought you'd kick me out, if I did."

Carol chuckled lightly. "I _did_ want to choke you a few minutes after you left, I'm not gonna lie."

"What a coincidence?" Daryl smirked. "I wanted to choke myself for it, too."

Carol exhaled a laugh and then placed her right hand flat on his chest, immediately noticing his heart was beating as fast as hers.

"Are we OK, then?"

"Yeah. Just… be careful, a'right? I don't think I'll ever trust that asshole, even if he stops tryna get in yer pants."

It was Carol's turn to smirk. "Well, maybe you should get in them first and leave no room for him?"

The mischievous comment had the desired effect on the archer: he bowed his head and chuckled nervously.

"Stop."

"Yeah, please stop, you two. I'm happy for you and all, but it's still weird watching you getting ready to make out. At least get a room, no?" Carl's voice made them both pull away from one another and their heads snapped towards the young man's standing form.

"How long have you been standing there?" Carol asked, her eyes narrowed at the boy.

"Long enough to know you two had a fight. No wonder Daryl was all pissy. Good thing you made up. Now he can help me with my homework."

"I ain't doing your damn homework! And you shouldn't spy on people."

"I wasn't spying. It's not like you were hiding, anyway. And I didn't say do it for me. I said _help_ me."

"It's yer homework. You help yourself."

"But I still don't know the difference between an adverb and an adjective, and you do."

"Not my problem," Daryl said as he stood up, ready to leave what felt like an interrogation room. If Carl had been teasing him about Carol before the kid had known for sure they were together, Daryl did not want to be here to find out what else could come out of the child's mouth now that he had caught them in such an intimate moment.

"Yeah, I guess not," Carl continued. "But hey, I also have biology homework. Maybe you can help me with that, you know, after you get a one-on-one lesson from Carol later on."

"Carl! That's not appropriate at all. What is wrong with you?" Carol was appalled by his boldness, but the teenager was not swayed.

"Nothing," he lazily shrugged and smiled. "I'm just so happy for you two. And yeah, I'm having a little fun at your expense, but…" Carl shook his head from side to side. "I know Mom would have been happy for you. And Sophia, too. She hadn't known Daryl then, but she told me she had wanted you to find a new husband. Someone who wasn't like Ed. She would be so happy to know you did find one, in the end."

 _Husband?_ Daryl stiffened where he stood, his eyes wide as saucers, and Carol inwardly groaned at Carl's words.

The archer gulped. Had Carl just referred to him as Carol's _husband_? Did the little shit think he and Carol were married? It was not that he minded the idea, but they could not even share the same room yet, and they still had much to figure out and talk about, and…

 _Husband?_ Daryl blinked several times. Sophia would have been OK to see him as her mama's husband?

 _Sophia_ , Daryl felt his chest hurt. If he had been Carol's husband back then, he knew for a fact that Sophia would have been alive today to see them like this. Even if she had gotten lost in the woods anyway, she would have known how to survive until he found her, because _he_ would have taught her so.

But he had not been Carol's man back then. The idea had not even crossed his mind back at the quarry; even when he and Merle had known the son of a bitch that was her husband was beating the shit out of her almost every night.

The past was the past, however, and today was today. Sophia was not here with them to approve of him – to see her mother be happy with him. She was not here to enjoy the perks of living in Arcadia, or to groan along with Carl about having to do homework again…

…and because of it, because of the heavy implications of Carl's statement, Daryl needed to get out of here, right the fuck now.

"Daryl?" Carol tried to ground him, but not even her voice could bring him back from this in a snap. Sophia's wishes were not new to her – the little girl had shared them with her several times, especially after Carol had received stronger-than-usual beatings from Ed before the world had ended. For Daryl, however, the story was different. Much different.

"I need a goddamned smoke," Daryl said as he turned away from them and almost left a Daryl-shaped hole on the front door of the Grime's home.

Carol sighed loudly, not even bothering to catch up with Daryl just yet. She then turned to face the boy who knew had messed things up, and then shook her head at him.

"Carl, what did you say that for?"

"I'm sorry," he said, his entire form deflated. "I didn't mean to upset him. I'm just telling the truth. I thought you'd both be happy hearing it. Sophia _did_ want you to be happy. She told me. She… she would've loved Daryl. She would've been so happy for you. I-I just wanted you to know that."

Carol stood up and walked around the loveseat to join Carl's standing form, both behind the large couch. Carl hesitated to look her in the eye but, when he finally did, he realized that Carol was not mad at him. She was just not looking forward to dealing with an emotional Daryl because of him voicing his well-intended thoughts.

"You know how hard it's gonna be for me to get him to come down from that? I know you meant well. I really do. But Daryl…"

"I know. I know. I didn't think before I spoke, but…" Carl gave her a small smile, feeling better now that he knew that she was not upset at him. "It can't be that hard for _you_ to cheer him up."

"Oh, yeah?" Carol crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. "You do know Daryl, right?"

"I do," Carl looked to his side and took a small step back, gearing up for a quick escape. "And because I do, I know that all you gotta do to cheer him up is letting him get into your pants."

"CARL GRIMES!"

The boy laughed as he ran back to his room, barely missing the decorative pillows that Carol threw his way.

xxxXXXxxx

Daryl's feet took him to the Mess Hall, and he immediately sat at the closest table. His hands and legs were nervously tapping against the table and the floor, respectively; his restlessness hitting a new high. Just when he had thought that things were going to be OK between him and Carol, Carl had to open his mouth. It was not as if what the boy had said was bad per se, but Sophia was a topic that was hard on them both. The entire morning had already been emotionally taxing for him, on top of two days of listening to his daddy and his brother. Carl's words, while meant to be uplifting, had been the icing on the cake for him.

He still had plenty of things to tell Carol before Carl had interrupted them, but now he needed to calm the fuck down before facing her again. She could not always be the one to center him. That was not her job. He needed to learn to chill on his own, even if that meant isolating himself for a few moments to order his thoughts. At least, that was what Dr. Gray had told him: that he needed to start building self-control to keep his outbursts from becoming what he had feared of his father when growing up.

Fate, however, seemed to have a different plan for him – one that did not include him being alone with his thoughts.

"Hey," Annette Brown said before taking a seat next to him, handbag in tow.

A grunt from Daryl was his only response, all the while opting not to comment about the need for carrying a handbag in today's world.

This time, Annette did not take it personal that he did not verbally respond to her salutation. That afternoon with Daryl in his apartment, two days ago, had allowed her to learn so much about his traits. If he wanted to be left alone right now, he would say so or leave her hanging, in the next couple of minutes or so. She, however, hoped that he would stay for a little while. Rough or not, she enjoyed his company. A lot.

When her self-imposed limit of two minutes slipped away in absolute silence between them, the nurse finally dared to speak up again.

"Why so fidgety?"

"Smoke."

"Oh. That's a bad habit to have."

Before Daryl had a chance to scoff at her response, the woman dug into her bag on her lap and took out a box of nicotine patches from it. She then placed it in front of him on the table and smiled as she lifted her left sleeve to show him the one she was already wearing herself.

"It's hard to quit," she said before lowering her sleeve.

"Thanks."

Daryl was quick to open the box, determined to patch a couple of those bad boys on his chest, but Annette's left hand on his right one made him stop.

"Save them," she whispered in a conspiring tone before she opened the top of her bag a tad wider to show him a box of cigarettes. "Follow me?"

For a chance to have an actual smoke? Why the fuck not?

Daryl nodded to her and, before he knew it, they were both exiting the Mess Hall, side by side, oblivious to a pair of blue eyes watching them from afar. Next thing Daryl knew, he was being taken up and down halls and walked down staircases for several minutes until they finally stood in front of red door.

"Red doors with this logo," Annette pointed to a cigarette symbol that was on the middle of the door, "Are designated smoking areas."

"That so?" Daryl followed her inside the empty room that sported several trashcans with cigarette trays on them, all placed by comfortable-looking seats.

"Yup. Smoking in Arcadia is not prohibited, but be ready to catch grief from non-smokers. It's frowned upon."

"Where you get the smokes?"

"Traded them for a box of antiseptic with a friend in Zion. We had extra ones."

"Where?" Daryl asked as he grabbed the cigarette she was offering before siting next.

"Zion," she repeated as she held the lighter to his cigarette and then pulled away to light hers, "It's another community like this."

"Oh," Daryl said, vaguely recalling her saying something to him about other _Arcadias_ around the country, shortly after he had regained consciousness.

"They're like currency around here. Some people will do just about anything for them. Like in a prison, I guess."

Daryl briefly thought about the only prison he had ever lived in. Ironically, he had felt freer there than he felt here.

"So, I heard that you're cleared for clean ups," Annette said, eager to engage in conversation with Daryl while he allowed it to prolong the time it took for him to finish his smoke.

"Yeah."

"That's exciting," Annette gushed. "It's great news for everyone. We've all been stuck down here, waiting to bring in the last community – going outside only to recruit communities or go to other locations like this one. I can't wait to get out of here and get some fresh air. Go hunting."

Daryl almost dropped his cigarette from his mouth before he looked at her up and down. "Hunting? _You_ hunt?"

Annette gave him a look that said that she was not enthralled by his incredulity.

"I was Daddy's Little Girl. Had no brothers or sisters, just me. Dad, he made do with what he had. He was supposed to teach me about snares, too... but he died instead."

Daryl lowered his gaze to the floor. "Before or after… this?"

"Before," Annette grimaced as she looked at the cigarette between her fingers. "Lung cancer."

The irony was not lost to him. And neither was the fact that smoking had killed Annette's father _and_ his mother, in one shape or form.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," Annette sighed. "It's been a long time."

Daryl nodded curtly, both to let her know that he was still sorry for the loss of her father, even if he had not cared when his own had kicked the bucket, and to mark the end of this topic. Nothing good could come out of a conversation like this. He might as well let it go.

After a few minutes of even more silence, Daryl could feel the calming effects of the nicotine. He was not proud of his unhealthy habit, but he was not going to deny that lighting one up allowed him to relax – which was exactly what he had wanted to achieve. The problem now was that he doubted the patches would do it for him in the long-term. To have a chance at helping himself diminish his outbursts and become rational enough to work things out with Carol, he would need to get a hold of a full box of cigarettes of his own every now and then – enough to share with Carol, too. He could stretch them and make it work for them… and he just had an idea of how to make that plan come true.

"I can do snares," Daryl blurted out, much to Annette's surprise. "Ain't that hard. I've caught myself all kinds of game with snares. Big game, too."

"You hunt?"

It was now Daryl's turn to give her an _Are you shitting me?_ face. "Ain't like you didn't know. You people questioned us like we was thieves."

"Oh, yeah. The bow."

Daryl shrugged. "Could teach ya to snare sometime, if you wanna. Trade ya for a full case of those," he pointed towards the cigarette box in her hand. "I'll even let ya keep the game I catch with my snares. Make it more of a fair trade."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Daryl. A full case of cigarettes… I don't think a couple of hours of snaring will cover it. That'd take at least an entire night of snaring and a morning of hunting."

"So? I'll do it. No big deal."

"Really? You wouldn't mind spending a night in the woods?"

"Practically raised there. I ain't afraid of camping."

It took everything in the nurse's power to keep her excitement from showing on her face. She could feel her heart beating faster in anticipation at carrying out the offer that Daryl had just placed at her feet. She had a lot more cigarette boxes hidden in her apartment; full cartons of them, in fact. If that was what it took for her to become closer to Daryl, she would not hate parting with some of the cigarette cases, at all.

"I'd like that. I'm sure other people would be interested in learning how to snare. Especially the first people that are gonna live outside after this. I'll let them know the payment is cigarettes," she winked at him and then bumped his shoulder with hers.

Daryl froze on the spot at the gesture. He had seen Carol wink at him in the same way that Annette had just done, and he himself had gently reciprocated shoulder bumps from Carol like the one Annette had just offered him – and he did not like what this meant. Knowing that this was probably an indication that she was currently flirting with him made him uncomfortable enough to clear his throat and look away.

"So," Daryl began, "What about the huntin'. That allowed, too? Not _frowned upon_?" he air-quoted the last two words. He had meant for it to make him sound like a sarcastic jerk, not someone anyone would like to flirt with, but instead it made the brunette laugh aloud. He knew that he had planned to seduce the woman for information, but he had _not_ planned to start again so soon.

"Yeah. There's a hunting team. And no, it's not _frowned upon_. We've actually never gone out to do it, but the plan is that we would once we started the clearings. The goal is to start using more of the remaining resources out there than what we have in here."

"Huh. Makes sense. How does one sign up for that shit? I should be able to go, right? Now that I can go outside?"

Annette nodded and smiled. "I can put your name down. Vouch for you, if you'd like me to?"

Would he turn down a chance to go outside to hunt? Never! Would he make sure Carol went outside with him to hunt?

"Fuck, yeah," his voiced reply and his mental reply aligned.

Annette smiled, looking forward to spending even more time with him.

"Consider it done, then."

After a thankful nod from Daryl, silence was all that surrounded them until each finished two more smokes.


End file.
